


If Wishes Were Thestrals (Muggles Would Ride)

by Ellory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Asexual Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Courtship, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Female James Potter, Female Sirius Black, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hair Lore, Implied Torture, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magical Bonds, Necromancy, Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Harry Potter, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Vignette Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2021-04-13
Packaged: 2021-04-25 16:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 78
Words: 43,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: This is a vignette collection of stories set in my Pureblood Culture 'verse. Unless otherwise stated, they are standalone vignettes.
Relationships: Augustus Rookwood/Female Harry Potter, Bartemius Crouch Jr./Female Harry Potter, Bellatrix Black/Lily Evans, Bellatrix Black/Luna Lovegood, Bill Weasley & Charlie Weasley, Blaise Zabini/Female Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory/Female Harry Potter, Charlie Weasley/Female Harry Potter, Death & Female Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/female Harry Potter, Female Fred Weasley/Harry Potter/George Weasley, Female Harry Potter/Bill Weasley, Frank Longbottom/Alice Longbottom, Frank Longbottom/Female James Potter, Fred Weasley/Female Harry Potter/George Weasley, Gilderoy Lockhart/Female James Potter, Harry Potter/Bellatrix Black, Harry Potter/Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Female Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Female Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Female Percy Weasley, Harry Potter/Female Terry Boot, Harry Potter/Female Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr., Harry Potter/Susan Bones, Harry Potter/female Draco Malfoy, James Potter & Sirius Black, James Potter/Female Regulus Black, James Potter/Female Sirius Black, James Potter/Lily Evans, James Potter/Original Female Character, James Potter/Regulus Black, Lord Voldemort & Female James Potter, Lord Voldemort/Female Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort/Female Sirius Black, Lucius Malfoy & Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Female Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Female James Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Female Regulus Black, Lucius Malfoy/Lily Evans, Lucius Malfoy/Regulus Black, Male Lily Evans/Female James Potter, Marcus Flint/Female Harry Potter, Marcus Flint/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom/Female Harry Potter, Orion Black/Female Harry Potter, Rabastan Lestrange/Female Harry Potter, Regulus Black/Female Harry Potter, Regulus Black/Lily Evans, Remus Lupin/Female Regulus Black, Sirius Black/FEMALE Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Female James Potter, Sirius Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Lily Evans, Theodore Nott/Astoria Greengrass, Theodore Nott/Female Harry Potter, Tom Marvolo Riddle/Female Harry Potter, Zacharias Smith/Female Harry Potter
Comments: 887
Kudos: 1833





	1. “Choke on Your Jewels” Sequel AU: Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr./Female Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

> These are not posted separately as the vast majority of them are 1,000 words or less. Once a story hits 1,500 words, I'm more likely to post it as a oneshot.

Marvolo Gaunt stared blankly at the blood-soaked wand in his hands. They shook so badly that he almost dropped it. It vibrated on the same magical frequency as his yew wand; it was a perfect match. He would never be able to give his wand to Calypso Black.

His hands were wet and slippery with her blood. Not even he, with all his knowledge and power and secrets had known a spell that would heal a complete evisceration. 

He, the most powerful wizard alive, was as useless as the basest Muggle as the witch he loved bled to death on the floor of the Ministry Atrium.

Marvolo gagged on the scent of copper, tasting it on his tongue.

Screams and cries of disbelief echoed through the room–the sound of a nation in mourning for its most beloved princess. 

Yet, the sound was nothing compared to the agonized begging of Minister Black. Sirius rocked Calypso’s corpse in his arms. He sounded as if he were under a hundred Cruciatus Curses at once. How he hadn’t already ripped his vocal cords was a miracle.

“Please. Please, don’t leave me! Calypso! As your Paterfamilias, I order you to live.”

Sirius’s magic responded to that command in such a terrifying swell that it hit the visible spectrum, burying the room in sooty fog. 

It had no effect; she didn’t even twitch.

Marvolo had wanted to be immortal as long as he could remember. He had spent decades researching the best ways to guarantee he would never die. Now, the thought of living without Calypso for _an eternity_ made Marvolo wish that he had never found a ritual and performed it.

If he could only have her in death, then he would die.

But that wasn’t an option for him anymore. 

Marvolo felt his heart dissolve in his chest. He felt his sanity splinter into jagged shards. His morals burnt faster than a traitor being executed by Fiendfyre.

If he couldn’t go to her, then he would find a way to bring her back to him.

_At all cost. At any cost._

No price would be deemed too great.

And if he failed? Well, the world had no reason to exist if Calypso wasn’t part of it. Everyone had better pray he would find a way. 

If he didn’t … 

Marvolo would kill them all.


	2. “Life and Death” Sequel AU: Death & Female Harry Potter

“Bloody hell!” Solaria Black screamed.

Death sniffed haughtily and Solaria’s bones ached. 

“That’s rude, beloved. I had my favorite damned souls clean when I realized you were on your way. There’s not a speck of blood in sight.”

“Marvolo is going to be so pissed,” Solaria said, dragging a hand down her face.

Death chuckled and a phantom-knife drove into her skull.

“He’s had your attention almost non-stop since you bonded without my permission. I was starting to feel neglected, so I arranged for you to be poisoned. I’ll send you back after we’ve had a nice visit,” Death said.

“Granpapa, you can’t kill me every time you want to see me!”

“Yes, I can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Can too.”

“Can not!”

“Can not!”

“Can too!” Solaria snapped.

Death grinned and tapped his fingers together. “Excellent. You agree with me. Now, let’s have some tea and petit fours. I arranged the death of a patisserie chef just for you.”

Solaria groaned and gave up. The men in her life were all _extra,_ and she knew when she wasn’t going to win. Rarely, very rarely, she gave in gracefully.

“Thank you, Granpapa.”

“You’re most welcome, beloved.”

Hopefully, Marvolo wouldn’t go completely insane from their broken soul-bond before she got back. If he did, well … Solaria would keep him anyway. Always.


	3. “Caress” Sequel AU: Draco Malfoy/Female Harry Potter

Hadara woke up to the caress of fingers against her stomach. It never failed to make her smile, even though she knew Draco wasn’t trying to wake her. Maybe one of these days she would clue him in to her waking up during his little chats with her stomach.

A dull glow–all of the _Lumos_ that the bed-covers didn’t muffle–shone near her hip.

Draco pressed the lightest of kisses against her stomach and said, “You’re going to be as beautiful as your mother.”

Hadara’s eyes teared up.

“She’s the best part of my life. Did I tell you about the day I finally got to keep her? She was radiant in Malfoy white. I thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest. But if her choosing me forever was the last thing I ever saw before dying, I couldn’t ask for more.”

Hadara’s tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. Even almost a year after their bonding, with her bonds stable and her sanity safe, Draco still treated her as gently as if she could dissolve in his grasp and float away on an afternoon breeze.

“I know I’m supposed to want a son first, so our family line has an heir, but I’m so grateful that you’re going to be a daughter. My little princess. We are going to love you more than any little girl has ever been loved.”

Hadara bit her lip to hold in a sob.

“And I forbid you to grow up and fall in love. Your mother and I want to keep you forever,” Draco chided.

“Oh, Draco!” Hadara sobbed, unable to remain silent any longer.

The caresses against her stomach stilled. Draco’s head and shoulders came out from under the covers, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, darling,” he whispered.

Hadara kissed him gently and said, “You’re going to be the best father.”

Draco smirked through his embarrassment at being caught and said, “I know.”

Hadara laughed and kissed her lord-husband again. He made her indescribably happy. 

Of all the decisions Hadara had ever made, choosing Draco was the best one. 


	4. “Language of Flowers” Sequel AU: Harry Potter/Female Neville Longbottom

Harry Potter lay on the lawn in the gardens of Potter Manor, his head in his wife’s lap. Nephele Potter stroked his hair as they enjoyed the afternoon sunshine. 

She had just finished planting a series of flowerbeds that matched every charm on the bracelet she had given him over the years. All they had to do was look at this part of the gardens and it told their love story.

Harry pulled one of her hands away from his hair to kiss it.

“Ambrosia,” he said. 

_Your love is reciprocated._

He never spoke the words. He never would. Three words couldn’t compare to floriography.

Nephele’s breath hitched.

He kissed the inside of her wrist and stared up into her eyes. “Gardenia.”

_Sweet love, you’re lovely._

Nephele smiled at him, her eyes shiny.

“Ivy,” he breathed against the skin of her wrist.

_Fidelity in wedded love._

A tear slid down Nephele’s cheek and landed on Harry’s face.

Harry stroked his thumb across her fingers as he turned her hand. His heart was full as he kissed the ring he had given her on their bonding day.

“Arbutus,” Nephele replied through her tears. “Arbutus, Harry.”

“Arbutus,” Harry agreed.

_Thee only do I love._


	5. "Surrender" Sequel AU: James Potter/Lily Evans & Harry Potter

Lily Potter hummed softly as she rocked Harry to sleep. He was fussy, his green eyes leaking crocodile tears any time she put him down. He didn’t have great control of his body yet, but he could make grabby hands at her like a pro.

And whenever she saw them, Lily couldn’t bear to let go of him.

How could she deny him anything when her heart was overflowing with love for him? She would do anything for her baby, give anything to keep him safe. She had sheltered Harry beneath her heart for nine months — fed him her magic in her womb — he was a vital part of her.

The first time Lily set him in the bassinet and left the room, she almost had an anxiety attack.

What if something happened to Harry when she wasn’t in the room? What if he stopped breathing? What if he had a nightmare? What if he needed a hug? What if he missed her? What if he woke up all alone for the first time in his life and thought she had abandoned him, as her family had abandoned her?

“Shh, it’s all right, Harry. You’re all right,” Lily said, before kissing his forehead.

Harry smelled like baby powder. His skin was so soft against hers. She kept kissing him as she walked around the nursery, rocking him in her arms.

“Mummy loves you, Harry.”

His tears finally stopped, but Lily didn’t put him down; she knew they would just start back up again if she did. And Lily’s heart couldn’t take the ache of his tears.

A firm arm wrapped around her waist; Lily breathed a sigh and leaned back against her beloved husband. James Potter had been, understandably, smug for weeks at breeding her the same day he captured her in the Hunt. And he had been more attentive and gentle than ever before as she carried their son and heir.

Lily honestly believed she could have asked James for anything in the entire world, and he would have provided it for her. Anything at all.

“Bring him to bed with us tonight, Lily-Flower,” James said, before kissing the back of her neck.

“Are you sure? He’s been sleeping with us a lot lately, James. You don’t mind?”

They had only been intimate a few times since Harry was born five months ago. Lily couldn’t help but worry that James would eventually get frustrated about it. It was just so hard to take care of a new baby and find time for things like that.

James stroked the tuft of dark hair on Harry’s head and hugged them both to his chest. As always, he set her fears right to ease.

“Everything I love is in my arms. How could I be anything but happy?”


	6. "i want no world" Sequel AU: James Potter/Isadore Vaisey

James Potter walked down the stairs to the Entrance Hall, hating how nervous he felt. Was it nervousness or anticipation? He honestly wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it felt like he had swallowed an entire swarm of flutterbyes.

After all the planning, it was finally time for the Hogwarts Yule Ball.

Tonight … tonight he would get to hold Isadore Vaisey in his arms. And, if she had received official permission, they would get to waltz together.

James had spent the past few months dreaming of tonight, clutching her close to him, smelling her shampoo right off her hair. Merlin, he ached for it. Each day since Headmaster Dumbledore had told them all to organize the Yule Ball had been torture.

He kept his gaze locked on his feet. Because James knew if he looked up and saw her, she would be so beautiful that he would trip and fall down the rest of the stairs entirely. And if he did that, Sirius Black would never, ever let him live it down.

Once he reached the Entrance Hall, James looked up; he almost swallowed his tongue.

Isadore Vaisey was wearing a medieval-style lace gown in Potter-Crimson. She had swept her hair up in a ruby hairnet, which she had secured with the forget-me-not comb he had given her on their first Courtship Date.

“You’re absolutely exquisite,” he breathed, already wondering how soon he could arrange their bonding. Because, Merlin, he was going to keep and cherish her forever.

“Thank you, James,” Isadore replied, a blush on her fair skin.

James offered his arm and led her into the Great Hall. They must’ve been formally announced, but he didn’t notice at all. He couldn’t focus on anything but the smell of her hair and skin as they waltzed, her head almost lying on his shoulder. The waltz led into a foxtrot, a quickstep, and a Viennese Waltz.

The music changed from one song to the next, but James never let go of Isadore, except to slide his hands into the proper position for the next dance.

“Do you need a rest?” James asked, over an hour after the Yule Ball began, even though he wanted nothing more than to keep her in his arms.

“I need you to not let me go,” Isadore whispered, her heart skipping several beats in his chest. “I’ll not spend a moment outside your arms that I don’t have to.”

James used the hand at her waist to guide her as close as he could without causing a scandal — because if a chaperone came to separate them, his magic was going to react very, very violently — and said, “Then I won’t let go until the end, when I have no choice.”


	7. “i carry” Prequel AU: Bill Weasley & Charlie Weasley

A knock sounded on the door to the Transfiguration classroom, before it opened.

“Yes?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“I need Bill Weasley, Professor,” a first-year Slytherin said.

“Why?”

“Madam Pomfrey sent me to fetch him. Lord Prewett’s in the infirmary.”

Bill dropped his quill and leaped to his feet. He didn’t even wait for McGonagall’s approval before running for the doorway. He left everything behind; one of his dorm-mates would surely be good enough to gather it all up for him.

“What happened?” Bill asked, not slowing down as he ran through the halls. He was grudgingly impressed when the first-year kept up.

“One of the Gryffindors sabotaged our potion. It exploded all over Lord Prewett. It would have caught me too, but he managed to push me out of the way. He’s got some awful burns on his arms.”

Bill gritted his teeth and took a corner so fast he clipped it. That was going to bruise later. It sounded like he needed to have a conversation with the Gryffindor first-years about bullying his baby brother. He didn’t care that Charles was a Slytherin; Bill would always do everything in his power to protect his little brother.

“Madam Pomfrey, how is he?” Bill yelled as he careened into the infirmary.

“Quiet down!” Madam Pomfrey ordered with a huff.

Bill barely stopped in time to keep from crashing into the bed Charles was lying on, arms wrapped in bandages; the smell of burn healing paste was especially pungent. Madam Pomfrey must have been forced to apply it in thick layers.

“He’ll need a Dreamless Sleep,” Bill said, as his brother grimaced and wriggled, face so pale his freckles looked black.

“I agree,” Madam Pomfrey said.

“Have you contacted our parents for permission?” Bill demanded. 

He hated seeing his siblings in pain, but Charles was his favorite. There was barely a year between their birthdays; they were thick as thieves. After everything that had happened since Charles’s Hogwarts letter came, Bill wanted to spare his brother as much pain as possible.

“No,” Madam Pomfrey said, looking at Bill peculiarly, “I didn’t. I sent Selwyn for you because you’re listed as Lord Prewett’s Medical Power of Attorney on his school paperwork.”

Bill had never felt so simultaneously heartbroken and elated. He was fiercely proud that Charles trusted him to make such decisions when Charles was unable to do so. At the same time, he wanted to cry, because he hadn’t realized until that exact moment how badly his parents had destroyed Charles’s trust in them.

“I approve the use of a Dreamless Sleep potion.”

“Thank you.”

“Do I have to sign anything?”

“No, vocal confirmation is acceptable,” Madam Pomfrey assured him.

As she administered the potion, Bill took his little brother’s hand and sat on the empty stool by the bed. He stared at the bandages and vowed to himself he would never give his brother reason to doubt him.

Bill would have Charles’s back until the day he died.


	8. Bonding Contract AU: Lucius Malfoy/Female Regulus Black

Lucius Malfoy has never disobeyed his father in his entire life. Yet, this he will not accept. The betrothal contract in his hands, as explained, is intolerable.

“No.”

Abraxas Malfoy stares at his son, disbelieving. “No?”

“No, I will not bond with Narcissa Black,” Lucius says. Nothing will make him change his mind.

“Lucius, as your Paterfamilias–”

“Narcissa has Light Magic,” Lucius interrupts his father, for the first time ever. “I don’t know how the Blacks managed to convince you otherwise, but she would be lucky to carry one child to term for me. Her magic would poison our children in the womb. If their plan is to weaken our family and heirs, they couldn’t have chosen a better sacrifice.”

Abraxas scowls ferociously and snatches the betrothal contract back. He draws his wand and snarls, _“Incendio!”_

Lucius snatches the contract back with a smirk. “Don’t be so hasty, Father. Walburga Black foolishly signed this in Blood and Magic without specifying the name of my bride in writing. For once, her greed will benefit our family.”

“Oh?” asks Abraxas, a dark smirk growing across his face.

“For attempting to destroy our family, I’m going to deprive Heiress Walburga of the only person she has ever loved in her miserable life,” Lucius states.

He writes “Regina Isolda Black” before signing the contract in Blood and Magic. Her magic is as Black as her name, and will strengthen his heirs tenfold.

This will bring the Malfoy family into a greatness it has never enjoyed before; he can feel it in his bones. For what need does the Magical World have for a mere Dark Lord, when it can have a Black Queen?


	9. Matriarchal Society AU: Female Harry Potter/Bill Weasley

“If that French harpy flares her Allure at Bill one more time, I’m going to curse all her hair off!” Harriet Potter snaps. Her fingers are curled around the butter knife in such a way that she can absolutely scar the hussy’s face with it.

Hermione Granger doesn’t even look up from her Transfiguration textbook before mumbling, “Put down the knife. Stabbing people is bad, Harry.”

Harriet huffs and switches it to her other hand, just to be contrary. Hermione should be paying attention to her. This is important! _It’s a big deal!_

“I’m all for you cursing her bald,” Ginevra Prewett grits out. “We might not have money, but we’re Sacred Twenty-Eight; she’s treating him like he’s a bloody Muggle. Uh, no offence, Hermione.”

“None taken.”

Then, ingrained continental manners make Harriet’s day. Because Fleur Delacour is stupid enough to forget she’s not in France and that one must abide by the protocol of the country of which one is a guest. In other words, the grabby harpy should have kept her hands to herself.

Grinning triumphantly, Harriet gets to her feet. She’s been looking for an excuse all weekend, and now she has a legitimate one.

“Going to defend my brother’s honor?” Ginny asks with wicked delight.

Harriet’s best friend isn’t usually so vicious, but witches don’t usually sashay past her while loudly announcing how “unfortunate” it is that “England’s witches are so plain.”

“Remember to add the extra swish at the end of the wand movement,” Hermione says absently, “so her hair won’t grow back for six months, even if she takes a hair-growth potion. It’s the variation from your godfather’s library.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Harriet smirks in a way that would make her godfather proud and stalks across the Great Hall. She doesn’t hate anything in the world more than she hates someone trying to take away another person’s consent. As far as she’s concerned, intentionally dousing a wizard in Allure is no better than love potioning him.

The fact that Fleur is either ignorant to, or ignoring (which would be so much worse) Bill’s leeriness infuriates her.

“Go away, leetle girl. ‘e ees my companion for ze day,” Fleur sneers as Harriet approaches.

Harriet has practiced the spell so many times that she doesn’t even have to speak the incantation for it to work. She bites her lip as blonde hair flutters to the floor.

“‘ow dare you!” Fleur’s eyes spill over with enraged tears. 

When Fleur raises her wand, Harriet laughs in her face. “Do it. Go ahead. It’s been months since my father got to torture someone for casting magic at me.”

“What?”

Harriet leans forward; her smile is all teeth. “Mother loves Father, so she indulges him. I’ve never met a more pampered wizard in my life; Mother gives Father everything he asks for. He’s very talented, you see, and Mother would never want to stifle his creativity. Maybe you’ve heard of his work? It’s pretty famous, actually. His hobby is being the Dark Lord Voldemort.”


	10. Necromancer AU: Lord Voldemort/Female Sirius Black

Sirliana Black follows Bellatrix Black to the gathering of Death Eaters. It’s pathetic how rabid her cousin is toward the new Dark Lord. Bellatrix is so focused on crawling back to her master that she doesn’t even feel Sirliana latch onto her cloak to be pulled along in the Apparition.

James Potter’s Cloak of Invisibility covers her. She almost cried when he handed it over an hour ago without asking why she needed it. He hadn’t even asked her to return it when she was done. Sirliana never wants to fail his faith in her.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix simpers, crawling on her knees to kiss the Dark Lord’s robes.

She’s not the only pureblood groveling in the dirt. It’s revolting.

When she can’t take the sight anymore (how dare Bellatrix debase the Black name in such a way?), Sirliana lowers the hood of the Cloak of Invisibility. The reaction is immediate.

“Well, well,” the Dark Lord chuckles, “Heiress Black herself. To what do I owe this unexpected surprise?”

“Regulus and the Potters are to be left alone.”

Sirliana doesn’t ask it of him, or even beg it of him, she demands it of him.

“You think you can command me?” the Dark Lord asks, sounding both amused and irate.

“I know I can,” Sirliana replies, before removing Slytherin’s Locket from her neck. She twirls it from a finger with a smirk. “You really shouldn’t trust parts of your soul to teenagers if you want to live forever. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“How dare you–?”

Sirliana lets just a hint of her Necromantic Magic into her aura and grins when the Dark Lord’s eyes fill with avarice. She’s always known she would have an arranged bonding; at least this way she gets protection for the only people she loves out of it.


	11. Soul-Mate AU: Sirius Black/Female Harry Potter

James Potter steps out of the birthing room without Sirius Black’s new goddaughter, rubbing the back of his head. His mouth opens and closes and he’s flushed a deep red.

“Is everything okay?” Sirius asks, feeling frantic. Nothing had gone wrong, right?

“So … you can’t be her godfather, Padfoot.”

“What?” Sirius rasps.

_It hurts. It hurts so much._

He and James had agreed to be the godfather of each other’s children years ago. To have James rip that from his grasp… . Merlin, what had he done that made James think he wasn’t worthy to watch over his daughter?

“She, uh,” James uncharacteristically stutters, “s-she has the Canis Major constellation on her chest, with Sirius right over her heart.”

Sirius collapses back against the wall in disbelief and slides down to the floor. He sobs into his hands as he realizes what that means.

_A soul-mate._

Mother Magic has given him a soul-mate.

Sirius has no idea what he could have possibly done in his life to earn one, but he’s determined to prove worthy of such a blessing.


	12. Creature ABO AU: Remus Lupin/Female Regulus Black

Remus Lupin doesn’t have self-esteem problems; he’s just a realist. Even as the Chosen Alpha Successor for Fenrir Greyback of the Greyback Pack, he doesn’t have a chance in hell. He just–doesn’t.

He’s a born pureblood alpha werewolf. He mastered the full shift when he was three. Remus brought down a full-grown elk by himself when he was eight. He’s been given all of the United Kingdom to rule over, underneath Fenrir’s aegis.

And yet …

Remus knows his history. He knows why Sirius Black Sorted Gyffindor. Anyone shocked by it was an imbecile. It was a given that James Potter would Sort Gryffindor, and Lancelot has never been far from his King’s side.

Sirius’s place in James’s Court makes Regina Black, by Blood and Magic, the High Omega of Avalon.

To Court her, he would have to ask James–the King–for permission. James has refused every single person who has asked since Regina Blossomed. The one who dared to object got himself and his entire family Banished from Avalon _forever._

Remus swishes the brandy in his snifter and leans against the wall in Potter Manor. Even though they have all been out of Hogwarts for years now, they all still get together at least once a week. It’s James’s turn to host.

Regina smells amazing. Even all the way across the room, a reminder to keep control of himself, all he can smell is that she’s currently fertile. 

He wants to hunt her a Nundu, so after she’s eaten her fill she can have the most beautiful fur coat in all of Avalon. He wants to show her the den he built with his own hands and magic, all for her. He wants to Mate her and Pup her.

“All right! That’s it!” James snaps, magic crackling and Alpha Aura flaring to blanket the room. “I can’t take the pining another second!”

“Thank Merlin,” Sirius agrees. “It’s painful to be in the room with them.”

“Alpha Remus Lupin of the United Kingdom, I order you to ask me permission to Court the High Omega of Avalon!” James’s eyes turn gold with the weight of his magic.

Remus drops his gaze, bares his neck, and says, “My Liege, may I have the honor of Courting the High Omega of Avalon?” The words roll right off his tongue without hitching once, even as his thoughts spin wildly at what this could mean.

“Granted,” James says, voice heavy with royal decree. His eyes turn back to their normal hazel as he smirks. “Now get out of here, you two.”

“Yes, my Liege,” Remus agrees in a daze. Is this really happening?

_“Regina.”_

“Yes, my Liege?” Regina asks, cheeks flushed red.

“If he lays a hand on you before Mate-Biting you, rip his throat out,” James commands.

Remus swallows, because he’s known James since they were eleven. He knows what James sounds like when he’s serious. He’s never heard James this serious in his life.

Regina flashes bright white fangs. “Oh, I will.”


	13. The Bet AU: Lucius Malfoy/Female Regulus Black

Regina Black walks into the head boy rooms and throws herself on Lucius Malfoy’s bed. She rolls over twice to rumple her clothes, and pulls several strands of hair loose from her updo. She bites her lip so hard that it hurts and swells up. Then she pinches her cheeks.

She sits up in Lucius’s bed and smirks at the reflection that stares back at her from the nearest mirror.

Lucius, who has been sitting in stunned disbelief during the entire process, doesn’t seem to notice that he spilled an entire bottle of ink on his essay; the ink dribbles off onto his trousers and he doesn’t even twitch.

_“What in the world are you doing?!”_

Regina smirks and says, “Using you, Heir Malfoy.”

She stands up and untucks just the front of her uniform shirt from the skirt, then twists it and shoves it back in the waistband–making it look like she dressed in a rush.

Lucius gapes like a complete imbecile. “W-what?”

“Narcissa said that she’s the only Black you would let in your bed.” Regina’s smile is cutthroat. “I’m proving her wrong.”

“I-I–”

Regina saunters to the door to his chambers, her shoes dangling from her fingertips over her shoulder. She smirks back at him and says, “If you survive Sirius’s rage, I might even let you Court me.”

She can hear his wheezing splutters over the sound of the door slamming shut.

Regina smirks and walks through the common room to her dorm. Narcissa should have known better than to bet against her.


	14. Fake Dating AU: Regulus Black/Female Harry Potter

Regulus Black kneels on the floor, eyes blank. He’s been stood up. It shouldn’t surprise him, but it somehow does. The pureblood witch in question isn’t even from an Ancient Family, and despite not being the Heir, Regulus is still Sacred Twenty-Eight.

His laugh is tired and bitter.

“Make one mistake and they punish you forever.”

He clenches the material of his left sleeve. It doesn’t matter that he’s the reason they found out the Dark Lord Voldemort made Horcruxes. It doesn’t matter that Regulus risked his life for two years to hunt them all down, spying for the Order of the Phoenix. It doesn’t matter that the war would have dragged on for years and had countless casualties without his efforts.

All witches and their families seem to remember is that he once knelt before the Dark Lord Voldemort, kissed the hem of his robes, and took the Dark Mark willingly.

No witch will ever–

The door to the room opens so quickly it almost slams against the wall. Rosamund Potter stands in the doorway, her red hair the color of freshly spilled blood. Her eyes are wide with panic and filled with desperation.

“Heiress Potter! Our booked room is over here,” Ernest McMillan says and appears at her side. 

Wow, Regulus hadn’t known that James Potter hated his daughter. What other excuse could there be for setting her up with such a pompous wretch?

Rosamund’s face smooths out in the blink of an eye to calm and friendly, but pitying. She says, sounding utterly sincere, “I’m so sorry, Master McMillan. There must have been an error when the wizard making the appointments wrote down the names and room numbers. This is my seventh Courtship Date with Master Regulus. We’ve reached the threshold of exclusivity.”

Regulus has never seen anyone lie with such a straight face before. Rosamund doesn’t have a single tell. He wonders how many detentions she talked her way out of when she was still at Hogwarts, even as his mind stalls at the audacity of what she has just claimed in the middle of The Poison Apple.

McMillan gawps at her; she smiles and shuts the door in his face.

Then, face as red as her hair, she turns to him and says, “I’d like a winter bonding, if that’s all right?”


	15. Rumor AU: Blaise Zabini/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter is just leaving the Quidditch Locker Room after a grueling match, desperate to get something to eat (seriously, her stomach is about to turn into a Jarvey and eat her from the inside out if she doesn’t feed it), when she trips over her feet.

Blaise Zabini is leaning against the nearest tree, looking unfairly handsome. He’s all _**wow**_ and she’s all _**blegh**_. Her hair is still wet from the shower she took, because drying charms make her hair even more unruly than it always is. 

The afternoon sunlight makes his skin a deep mocha and his hair a golden chestnut and Harriet _just can’t._

How dare he _lean_ while looking like that where she can see him? Did Malfoy dare him to come down here and murder her with the power of his cheekbones and the sparkling white of his smile? Because, for real, it might work. Her heart feels like it’s about to explode.

“I just heard the most interesting rumor,” Blaise says, lips curling into a smirk that’s way too distracting. 

Harriet isn’t much for gossip, but she’ll listen to anything if Blaise keeps talking in that smooth honeyed voice of his. “What about?”

Blaise crosses his arms, sending muscles rippling, which is _just not fair!_ Hasn’t she been tortured enough in her life already? 

“Draco heard from Pansy, who was eavesdropping on Daphne and Astoria gossiping, that Astoria won a secret in a bet from Padma, who then told her that Parvati and Lavender were giggling in the hallway about Ginny saying she was tired of Hermione complaining about teaching you the ink-erasing charm so you could remove _Heiress Harriet Zabini_ and write your real name on your essays.”

** _Harriet absolutely dies._ **


	16. Asexual AU: Theodore Nott/Astoria Greengrass

Astoria Greengrass stares at the contract in her hands, horrified. She can’t believe her father has signed a betrothal contract without speaking to her about it. She’s his favorite daughter! He asks her opinion about nearly everything that affects her, and she’s been prepared with arguments to head off contracts for years.

Tears trickling down her cheeks, Astoria crumples the contract into a ball and throws it into the fireplace.

She will die before she fulfills that contract.

“How dare he? I’ll never forgive him!” Astoria hisses, enraged beyond belief at her father’s actions.

Astoria tears out of her dorm room and down through the Slytherin Common Room. She’s going to see the contract broken if it’s the last thing she does; she doesn’t care how much shame it will bring upon her family either. It’s her father’s fault for not talking to her in the first place.

It doesn’t take long to reach the unused classroom in the dungeons that Theodore Nott has turned into his personal study. She stops outside the door long enough to wipe her face, and then she walks right inside.

“Heir Nott, could I have your help with a delicate matter, please?” Astoria asks, her voice rough.

Theodore looks up from his book and asks, “That would depend entirely on what you need, Miss Greengrass.”

“Father signed a betrothal contract with _Malfoy_”–she spits the name–”and the only way to break this specific contract is if I get pregnant by another pureblood wizard.”

His gold eyes narrow. “Everyone knows about the curse I was hit with over the summer by one of Father’s enemies; it happened in the middle of Diagon Alley. I’m impotent,” Theodore bites out.

“I know,” Astoria rushes to say, worried he will throw her out before she can say her piece. “I figured we could do a Ritual Reproduction. You would get an heir, and I would be free of Malfoy. It’s a Blood Art, so it would bond us in the process. The child would be legitimate.”

Theodore sets his book aside and stares at her. “And you don’t care that I’ll never be able to perform my husbandly duties?”

Astoria wants to duck her head and blush, but instead, she meets his gaze. “I’m not interested in wifely duties, _at all._ The thought of the bonding bed makes me sick. I’d do anything to get out of being stuck beneath Malfoy the rest of my life. _Anything.”_

“I want at least three children,” Theodore states, as if hammering out a business deal.

The implication of his agreement floods through her; Astoria collapses on the nearest chair in tears. She’s not going to have to let Malfoy touch her. She’s never going to have to let a wizard touch her like that. 

Gratitude overwhelms her as she smiles at Theodore and promises, “As many as you want.”


	17. Ministry Battle AU: Lucius Malfoy/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter is going to die. She knows it the second Ron Weasley trips, wits still scrambled by the brains that attacked him, and knocks her into the path of the lethal Cutting Curse Lucius Malfoy just cast.

To be fair, Lucius looks stunned and horrified.

“Look out!”

It’s no surprise, given that Voldemort has been desperate to capture her since the night in the graveyard. He touched her scar, froze in disbelief, and told all the assembled Death Eaters that the punishment for harming her was execution.

If Hermione Granger hadn’t made her practice the Summoning Charm so much for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harriet wouldn’t have tried her desperate gambit that somehow succeeded. She managed to Summon her wand back to her hand wandlessly and wordlessly, and then Summon the Triwizard Cup, so she could escape to Hogwarts.

“Harriet!”

She’s managed to evade him and his followers through sheer luck until now. As soon as she got the vision during the O.W.L.s, Harriet should have known it was a trap.

Harriet had foolishly come anyway.

Her loyal and brave friends followed her; now they would have front row seats to see her die.

“No! Harriet!”

Lucius flicks a Shield Spell at her, but it doesn’t arrive in time. Neither do the Shield Spells Antonin Dolohov and, oddly enough, Bellatrix Lestrange send her way in desperation.

“Heiress Potter.”

The Cutting Curse hits her chest … and passes right through. 

There’s a loud shrieking sound as the granite wall behind her is sundered. The silence in the chamber is absolute, but Harriet’s thoughts are racing at top speed.

The lethal offensive curse Lucius cast phased right through her rib-cage. It didn’t hurt her. His magic had refused to harm her. That meant … Morgana, that meant–

“Lucius Malfoy is your soul-mate?” Ginny Weasley screeches.

Harriet takes a half step forward, only to be halted by the three-fold Shield Spells. “So it would seem,” she says.

Even knowing Lucius is the Dark Lord’s Number One Lieutenant, Harriet wants to go to him. A soul-mate is something she never dared to imagine for herself; not even in her wildest fantasies of the future. Harriet never much thought about romance, for she didn’t think she would live long enough to have one.

She looks from her friends to Lucius and back again, _what ifs?_ and justifications spinning through her mind. Harriet belongs in the Light with her friends and parents’ ghosts. Harriet belongs in the Dark with her soul-mate and whatever Voldemort is to her.

Lucius offers his hand as the Shields fall. 

And Harriet … she takes it.

“What are you doing?” Hermione yells.

“You can’t!” Neville Longbottom says, wand shaking. “Harriet, you can’t.”

The only person who can make her change her mind stares at her with knowing, haunted eyes.

“Go with him,” Sirius whispers, “but take me with you.”

She does.


	18. Mistaken Identity AU: Rabastan Lestrange/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter walks into the Great Hall and straight over to the Slytherin table. She’s grateful that Hogwarts is such a magical environment; it allows her to feel the aura of objects. She’s grateful she was born a witch. Harriet can’t even imagine how awful trying to navigate the Muggle World would be with her condition.

She heads right for the patch of air that feels purposefully magicless. Regulus has been practicing hiding all his magic inside him, training her on spotting people who try to hide from her senses. He has been adamant about it since someone almost snatched her from Hogsmeade the previous year.

If Regulus hadn’t been there to stop it, Harriet doesn’t even want to speculate on how James Potter, her big brother, would have torn apart the Wizarding World to get her back.

Confusion ripples through the magic of the nearest Slytherins as she stops beside Regulus. Harriet isn’t sure why. She eats with him at the Slytherin table several times a week.

Harriet wraps her arms around him from behind and inhales his favorite cologne. She knows it costs more than most broomsticks on the market; she gifted it to him after all.

“Our brothers are plotting something particularly evil, Reg. I could hear them cackling all the way in the girls’ dorms. I don’t want to get caught in it, so I’m going to sit with you today.”

Then Harriet slides through the slim gap–the Slytherins always leave room for her, but this seems smaller than usual–and sits on his lap. He’s her favorite cousin and gives the best hugs.

“Heiress Potter?”

Harriet startles backward at the voice right next to her ear. That’s not Regulus’s voice! Large hands, much too large to be Regulus’s, protect her back from the edge of the table.

The only reason Harriet doesn’t burst into tears of embarrassment is because none of the Slytherins are laughing at her.

“I’m so sorry, Heiress Potter,” he says. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You surprised me.”

Harriet feels her face _burn._ “You have the same cologne as Regulus. And your magic is withdrawn,” she whispers.

“I didn’t realize Regulus was doing that for you. I’m terribly sorry. It wasn’t my intention to mislead you. I’m practicing for the Hit Wizard Exam. They fail everyone who can’t entirely hide their magic from detection,” he says, and lets go of his hold on his magic. 

“Please forgive me, Master Lestrange,” Harriet says, instantly recognizing his magic. It has a chivalrous flair to it that is unmistakable.

“No, forgive me,” Rabastan says. “I–I was stupidly hopeful; I should have known right away you weren’t here for me.”

Oh. _Oh._ She wasn’t expecting that–not at all. 

“You can take me on a picnic by the Black Lake for lunch,” Harriet says.

Rabastan’s hands spasm at her back and his breath hitches. His magic flares giddily. “I can?”

“Well, if you live that long,” Harriet amends. “Because James and Sirius are about to walk through the door, and I’m sure this looks more than a little compromising.”

The noise Rabastan makes then reminds her of a crying Kneazle kitten.

“If you do live, remember to have the house-elves pack treacle tarts; they’re my favorite.”

Harriet chuckles as James’s and Sirius’s auras go supernova.

_Best accidental prank ever._


	19. Coming Out AU: Bellatrix Black/Lily Evans

“Please, Lily-Flower? Just one date?” James Potter asked.

It was the last straw. Lily Evans couldn’t do it anymore; she couldn’t tolerate one more pet name or flirtation from Potter’s lip. She was so sick of it all.

Keeping her sexuality secret wasn’t worth the constant harassment of invitations.

Lily would rather hear a thousand bigoted comments about how the right wizard could “fix her.” She would rather listen to the Mudbloods who, unlike her, had not avariciously learned about pureblood culture, would gossip about her “experimental phase” that she would “get over soon” so she could “settle down like a proper witch.”

Of all the things Potter was, a bigot wasn’t one of them.

If she told him her real reason, he would probably offer her a formal apology for thinking she was playing hard to get. After all, there was a pureblood custom in which purebloods would quest for the right, as it were, to convince a New Blood to join their family and their line.

None of the Marauders had said a single derogatory thing when Bellatrix Black received a Dark Veela inheritance and flat-out said she wouldn’t accept a wizard as her bonded if he were Salazar Slytherin himself.

Lily knew they would extend the same courtesy to her.

As if thinking of the Slytherin witch had Summoned her, Bellatrix walked around the corner and said, “Well, well, well, two of my baby cousins and a little flower. You’re not bothering her, are you?”

“Lady Bellatrix?” Lily asked, knowing that Bellatrix would play along solely to piss off Potter and Black.

“Yes, little flower?” Bellatrix purred.

Lily stared into gray eyes that were the same shade at Black’s, but so much more striking framed by thick black lashes. “I’ll take that kiss you promised me now.”

Bellatrix’s cackling laughter echoed down the corridor as Potter’s and Black’s mouths dropped open. Her Allure unraveled and caressed Lily gently as Bellatrix crowded Lily against the wall. She nuzzled Lily’s cheek with a wicked grin.

The kiss, when it came, was the exact opposite of what she expected from a witch as passionate as Bellatrix. It was petal-soft, the barest brushing of lips, and caused Lily’s magic to surge.

Bellatrix laughed huskily and said, “Flowers are meant for girls, baby cousins. Boys would just carelessly destroy them.”


	20. Apprenticeship AU: Augustus Rookwood/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter takes a deep breath and stares at the door to the Apothecary. Inside is the most talented Potions Master in all of the United Kingdom. Coming from a Potter, there’s no higher compliment than that. She could Apprentice under her father or grandfather; she doesn’t want to, though.

Harriet wants to be an experimental brewer for the Department of Mysteries. What better way to get hired than to Apprentice with their most famous Unspeakable?

“You can do this. You’re a Potter. There’s no way he’ll turn you down,” Harriet says, giving herself a pep-talk.

A bell jangles as she opens the door.

“Welcome to–no,” Augustus says, voice turning from mildly welcoming to annoyed mid-sentence as he cuts himself off.

“No? I haven’t even–”

“There’s only one reason you would be here at this time of day right after graduating Hogwarts, Lady Harriet. My answer is no,” Augustus says, before turning away to straighten potion vials on a shelf.

Harriet gawps soundlessly for several moments and then balls her hands into fists. “Well, why not?”

“I don’t need a distraction in my potions lab.”

She hasn’t felt so offended since … she can’t even remember when. “I’m very talented! I got an O on my N.E.W.T. and I wouldn’t–”

Augustus sighs, loud and melodramatic, as if she’s utterly missed the point. “I’m not talking about your potions skills, Lady Harriet. I’m talking about your face. You’re too da-darn pretty. I can’t afford any distractions while I’m working on experimental potions.”

Harriet blushes horribly. “I know glamour charms. I could … be ugly?”

He snorts and says, “That won’t work. Your magic is distracting as hell, too. You should just go away and never come back.”

She marches up to the desk and leans on it. “What if I don’t want to?”

“You’re much too young, Lady Harriet, to be interested in an old wizard like me.”

Harriet raises an eyebrow. “Tell me one thing Heir Malfoy has that you think makes him a better wizard than you are–just one–and I’ll go.”

Augustus sighs and looks toward the ceiling, before holding out a hand for the Apprenticeship Contract in her pocket. “You’re mean, Lady Harriet.”

She grins and hands it to him, gracious in her victory. “Thank you.”

He scribbles his signature, presses his signet ring against it, sealing it with his magic, and then throws it back at her. “You’re not welcome.”


	21. Battle of Hogwarts AU: Fred Weasley/Female Harry Potter/George Weasley

Harriet Potter comes out of the Pensieve with a resigned smile on her face. Snape’s last memories haven’t told her anything she doesn’t already know. A Seer, after all, knows better than to try and fight a Prophecy.

Many types of Divination allow for fluctuation and change; Prophecy isn’t one of them.

Harriet has known, in her magic, that she is going to die at the Dark Lord Voldemort’s hand since the day she was born. Of all the things she can change and affect with her Seer powers, that isn’t one of them.

She isn’t scared, though. She has never been scared of dying.

Harriet isn’t just part of one Prophecy. She’s part of two. For the second to come true, she has to be alive. So it doesn’t matter if Voldemort kills her today. Somehow, someway, she will live through it.

Harriet smiles up at Dumbledore’s portrait, hating how sad he looks.

“I’m so sorry, dear girl.”

“It’s okay, Professor. Everything is going to be fine,” Harriet reassures him.

“If only I–”

Harriet activates her Seer powers; she knows her eyes have turned silvery-white when Dumbledore trails off in the middle of speaking, his mouth flapping soundlessly.

“I know, Professor. I’ve always known. Everything will be fine,” Harriet insists.

“Thank Merlin!” Dumbledore’s portrait sobs. 

“I’ll visit later!” Harriet says, waving casually before leaving the Headmaster’s Office.

Nephele Longbottom asks, “How can I help?” as soon as Harriet’s in sight.

Harriet ignores the rest of the people waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, for the moment, because Nephele helps her win the war. This is the most important thing Nephele will ever do for the war effort.

Before this moment, not even Nephele or Ron Weasley, who went Horcrux-hunting with Harriet, have any idea how she’s been destroying the Horcruxes they find. It’s time to change that.

Harriet holds out her right hand; the Sword of Gryffindor–once called Excalibur–materializes in her grasp.

The silence that falls over everyone is painfully loud.

She offers the sword to Nephele and says, “You kill the snake Nagini, First Lady Knight of the Court. This is my will.”

Nephele sinks into a curtsy so deep that she’s almost sitting on the ground; her eyes are resolute as she says, “I won’t fail you, your majesty.”

“I know,” Harriet says.

All she has to do is glance at Ron for him to kneel and swear, “I’ll watch her back as if it were your own.”

Harriet grasps his chin and states, “Direct my troops well, Lord Strategist of the Court. This is my will.”

“I’ll save as many as I can, your majesty,” Ron swears, shoulders straight and strong under the immense burden she just placed upon them.

Sirius Black takes an aborted step toward her; Harriet hates that he’s scared to touch her now. She steps right into his arms. 

“What do you need from me?” Sirius asks.

Harriet closes her eyes, because this is going to hurt him. It’s going to hurt him so much. She doesn’t have another choice. Prophecy is Prophecy–no one can change it.

Before his death, James Potter and Sirius Black were Twinned; the sundering of that bond almost destroyed Sirius’s mind. If he’s aware when Voldemort kills her, his mind will shatter. Harriet can’t allow that.

“You’re going to go into Headmaster Dumbledore’s Office and take a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Remus and Tonks are going to guard you with their lives,” Harriet decrees.

“No! No!” 

Harriet grabs Sirius’s face with both her hands and makes the only vow she can think of that will save her last parent’s sanity. She has lost her mother and father; she will not lose her father’s Twin as well; it’s the only bond she has left.

“I _swear,”_ Harriet’s voice trembles with power, her whole body glowing gold, “on all the Magic of Avalon”–Sirius’s complexion turns sickly white–“that I will return to you alive when my fight with Voldemort is finished.”

Sirius collapses in her arms and hugs her fiercely.

“Okay. Okay,” he sobs. “I’ll take the potion and let Moony babysit me.”

“Thank you,” Harriet whispers, kissing his forehead and handing him off to Remus Lupin.

The assembled DA members either curtsy or bow when she turns to focus on them. It doesn’t surprise her in the least that Ginny Weasley is their spokesperson.

“We’ll obey the Lord Strategist of the Court, your majesty. Our will is his, as his is yours.”

Harriet swallows back tears. She has Seen too many possibilities for the coming battle. She has no idea who will live and who will die. There are too many moving pieces in flux. All she can do is trust her people, hope for the best, and mourn those who fall.

Now, only one thing must be addressed before she dies.

“Fred and George, with me,” Harriet says, before walking through the crowd, which parts before her.

She enters the first empty room she comes across and walks over to the window. Her fingers hurt from how hard she’s gripping the stone windowsill. They have never discussed how their magic harmonizes, and now really isn’t the time. She should already be out in the Forbidden Forest walking to her death. But in the countless versions of this battle Harriet Saw, Fred dies much too often. Each time he dies, one thing remains the same. If there’s the slightest chance that she can prevent his death by speaking up, then she will.

Harriet turns around and leans back against the wall. The cold chill it sends down her spine does nothing to counteract the heat in their eyes.

She activates her Seer powers and isn’t surprised in the least that they aren’t surprised when her eyes change.

“What have you Seen, your majesty?” George asks.

“If you get separated from Fred in the coming fight, _he dies.”_

The twins latch onto one another in a fierce brotherly hug. Harriet wishes she were in that hug with them, but she won’t give their magic a chance to create even the frailest bond with hers right now; she’s going to die and the last thing they will need in the coming battle is the distraction of a dissolving bond.

Before leaving to fulfill a Prophecy that foretells her death at the hands of her greatest enemy, Harriet Potter, the Queen of Avalon _begs_ them, “Don’t make me return victorious to find Fred’s corpse. Please.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Fred promises.

“We’ll _both_ be waiting for you,” George promises.

It sounds like truth. _It is._


	22. Bored Gryffindors AU: James Potter/Female Regulus Black

“I’m bored,” James Potter says.

“Me too,” Sirius Black agrees.

The Gryffindors in the common room freeze, horrified. 

_“Merlin, no.”_

Lily Evans takes a fortifying breath and does what any proper Gryffindor would do in such a situation–throw a Slytherin under the thestral stampede.

“And then I took ten points from Slytherin and gave Lestrange detention for two weeks. I told him if he did it again that I would see him expelled. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s still alive. I figured Sirius would have killed him in an honor duel by now,” she loudly told Marlene McKinnon.

“Why would I be killing Lestrange in an honor duel?” Sirius inquires, interest piqued.

“For touching your sister’s hair.”

The explosion of James’s magic is violently bright. “I’m going to kill him.”

“He what?!” Sirius demands, as if he can’t believe what he’s heard.

James stands up, smooth and languid like a predator, smiles with all his teeth on display, and says, “Padfoot, let’s go skin a snake.”


	23. Proposal AU: Harry Potter/Female Draco Malfoy

Harry Potter is doing his best to tune out the conversation happening around him, but it isn’t working all that well. Every single time he thinks Ron Weasley will drop the topic, someone says something that riles him back up.

“I mean, Harry burned another three contracts this morning before the post even arrived. Owls must’ve delivered them in the night and his house-elf collected them. That’s, what, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-five,” Neville Longbottom corrects.

“Oh, who did I miss?” Ron asks, brow furrowed.

Neville smiles and says, “Harry turned down the Patil twins and a foreign witch yesterday.”

“Thank you for that, by the way. Padma and I see you as a friend and nothing more,” Parvati says, smiling at Harry.

“You’re welcome,” Harry replies.

That’s one of the reasons he’s so leery about accepting a betrothal contract. What if the witch isn’t at all interested in him? What if it’s all her guardian’s idea? Harry has no desire to be stuck in a loveless, arranged bonding.

“I am surprised he hasn’t chosen anyone yet, though,” Neville says.

“Same. He could have any witch in this school, except Malfoy, if he played his cards right,” Ron says.

Harry hates when people dictate what he can and cannot have. So, without a second thought, he yells across the Great Hall, “Oi, Malfoy!”

“What, Potter?” Dara Malfoy yells back, eyebrow cocked.

“I know you want good-looking kids. You should bond with me!” Harry yells, though there’s no need to as everyone has fallen silent.

Dara rolls her eyes, yells, “Fine!” and goes back to her dessert.


	24. Pureblood ABO AU: James Potter/Female Sirius Black

Siriana Black’s cheek throbbed. It would, without a doubt, have a truly epic bruise tomorrow. Walburga Black’s backhand was as vicious as ever. Blood pooled on Siriana’s tongue from where her teeth had cut into her cheek.

She spat it on her mother’s shoes.

“How dare you?” Walburga shrieked.

Regulus Black, her baby brother, stepped in front of her and said, “If you lay a hand on her again, _I’ll kill you.”_

“Stop being melodramatic, Regulus,” Walburga ordered. “Get away from her. I’m not done.”

He extended his claws at Walburga and stated, malice dripping from every word, “I’m not being melodramatic, woman.”

“How dare you talk to me with such disrespect? I’m your mother!”

“No,” Regulus disagreed, “you’re not. You’re just _the bitch _who whelped us.”

Walburga swung her hand at Regulus; he grabbed it by the wrist before Siriana could pull her brother down to safety. He was so tiny still, just a newly presented Alpha, and she would not allow him to be hurt for her.

Regulus shoved Walburga so hard that she fell back on a couch several feet away.

He snarled, “You can explain to our grandsire why we’ll never associate with the House of Black as long as you’re alive. I wonder how long it will take Grandsire Arcturus to kill you for this.”

Siriana shook as Regulus helped her to her feet. He tried to tuck her under his shoulder, but he was much too short for that. He ended up standing between her and Walburga, his arm around Sirana’s waist. 

“Arcturus would never kill me! Especially not for disciplining unruly pups!”

“I highly doubt you’ll survive the week,” Regulus said, shushing Siriana when she tried to speak. “Because I fully intend to write him a letter, in which I will explicitly detail that you made the High Omega of Avalon bleed.”

How did Regulus know? How could he possibly know? Not even James Potter, High Alpha of Avalon, knew Siriana had presented.

“Omega?” Walburga asked, face turning parchment white.

“You just bloodied our future Queen. I can’t imagine you’ll live long enough to regret it,” Regulus snarled.

Before Walburga could respond, Regulus led Siriana out into the corridor. Their sire, Orion Black, stood stock-still in the hallway. He was pale and horrified.

“Let me heal–”

“If you point your wand at her, _I’ll kill you,”_ Regulus said.

Just like earlier, Siriana heard the absolute honesty in her brother’s voice. He would have killed Walburga, and he still might kill their sire.

“I’ve never harmed either of you in my life,” Orion stated, hands shaking.

Regulus’s sneer was so derisive it could have won an award; he glared at their sire and said, “You’ve also never _helped_ either of us in your life.”

“Where are you taking her?” Orion asked, tears in his eyes.

“Like you actually care,” Siriana said, blood dribbling out of her mouth and down her chin.

Orion flinched.

“Somewhere none of you will ever be welcome,” Regulus snapped.

Regulus wiped the blood away from her face with a handkerchief, and then led her past their sire and into the kitchen. He couldn’t reach the Floo Powder on the mantle; he was too short. 

He huffed in annoyance. It was adorable.

Siriana smiled, even though it hurt so much worse when she moved her mouth. She grabbed the Floo Powder and tossed it into the fire, then stepped into the green flames with Regulus.

“Potter Manor!” Regulus said.

Siriana stumbled coming out of the Floo Network; if Regulus hadn’t been there to steady her, she would have fallen to the floor. Her head was aching. Walburga might’ve given her a concussion.

“Regulus, Siriana, it’s so good to see you!” Dorea Potter said, smelling, as usual, welcoming and sincere.

“I need to speak to James immediately,” Regulus said.

Dorea’s scent turned sour with worry. Her brow furrowed and she pursed her lips.

“What’s wro–?”

“I’m here,” James said as he entered the room.

As always, his Alpha Aura filled the air around him with power and authority. With James’s presence, Siriana allowed Regulus to take more of her weight; she was safe now.

“High Alpha of Avalon, I request sanctuary,” Regulus said.

James’s scent spiked with aggression as he demanded, “Granted. What happened?”

Regulus gently turned Siriana in his arms, so that her busted face was visible to the rest of the room.

“_That bitch_ struck the High Omega of Avalon so hard that Siriana’s still bleeding. I”–Regulus trembled against her–”I couldn’t heal her. Our wands are locked away right now because we refused to be subservient to Walburga.”

James was at Siriana’s side in an instant, one hand cradling her injured cheek as he whispered healing spells. It took half a minute to erase all evidence of the crime ever happening. He even Vanished the blood in her mouth.

He ruffled Regulus’s hair and said, “Good job, pup.”

“Why don’t you come with me, Regulus,” Dorea said, “and we’ll get rooms ready for you and Siriana.”

As soon as they left the room, James’s full attention was back on her. It was as heady as always. His full attention was addicting.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James asked, his scent such a heavy blanket of protection that Siriana had some difficulty breathing.

“I wasn’t going to taunt you with my scent for years until we were of mating age. I’d never be cruel like that to you, Alpha.”

James nuzzled his cheek against hers and rubbed their noses together. 

“You realize, right, that I’m never going to let you go, Omega?”

Siriana nipped his chin and released her control on her scent and pheromones.

“Please don’t. Never let me go.”

James’s eyes flashed High Alpha gold as he promised, “I won’t.”

He never did.


	25. Letter AU: Harry Potter/Female Draco Malfoy

<strike>Dearest Heiress Delphinia Malfoy,</strike>

<strike>I greet thee with warmest salutations and well wishes for your continued good health. </strike>

<strike>As the seasons have turned, so have my feelings for you. </strike>

<strike>What started as the smallest bud in the Spring of our lives, blossomed into a rose as red as the lovely flush upon your cheeks during a Summer morn. As Autumn came, the petals of my love for you neither faded nor waned. They remain as steadfast and plush as they were yesteryear.</strike>

<strike>Now, Winter is upon us.</strike>

<strike>It is my fervent hope that we might enter into the New Year with the intention of entering the rest of our lives as one.</strike>

<strike>Perchance, would you allow me to escort you to</strike>

Malfoy,

Hogsmeade?

Potter


	26. Quidditch AU: Harry Potter/Daphne Greengrass

Bacon went flying into Ron Weasley’s lap as Daphne Greengrass slammed her hands on the table in front of Harry Potter, the edge of her pinky just catching the rim of his plate.

“Um, can I help you?” Harry asked. 

He had never seen her so angry in his life. He had never seen her angry at all. Daphne was usually so calm and composed that the Slytherins called her their Ice Queen.

Right now, Daphne’s nostrils were flaring with rage.

What could he have possibly done to make her so upset?

“I want you to crush Slytherin in the Quidditch match today. Do you hear me, Heir Potter?”

She leaned so far over the table that Harry could feel her breath on his lips.

“I want you to catch the Snitch so fast that Malfoy looks like a toddler who challenged Viktor Krum, thinking he would win.”

Oh, wow. Malfoy must have _really_ pissed her off.

“If you do, I’ll be your date to the next Ministry Gala we both pretend not to hate,” Daphne said, before twirling around and walking away.

“So … what are you going to do?” Ron asked as he munched on the bacon.

Harry smirked and said, “Publicly humiliate Malfoy, apparently.”

Ron clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re such a nice guy, Harry!”

“Thank you.”


	27. Quidditch AU Part Two: Harry Potter/Daphne Greengrass

“I still can’t believe that you caught the Snitch twenty-three seconds into the game!” Ron Weasley declared, two weeks later.

“I was singularly motivated,” Harry Potter replied as he straightened his waistcoat in the mirror. 

“I’m not surprised,” Neville Longbottom said as he brought over cuff-link options for Harry to choose from. “Heiress Greengrass is particularly discerning.”

“And hot,” Ron said.

“And hot,” Harry and Neville agreed in unison, before laughing.

A few minutes later, all ready, Harry grinned at his reflection. He hadn’t warned his godfather about his date’s identity. Harry was fully expecting to receive a subtle high-five from Sirius Black not long after Harry and Daphne were announced in the Ministry’s Ballroom.

“Wish me luck,” he said as he headed out the door.

“You don’t need it! You’re a Potter!” Neville called after him.

It didn’t take long to reach the Headmaster’s Office — they had to Floo to the Ministry — that Professor Dumbledore had thankfully vacated. That didn’t stop the portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses from commenting.

“Oh, a Greengrass and a Potter!”

“Well, have you ever seen such a pretty couple?”

“They’ll never work out.”

Harry was struck-dumb at the sight of Daphne. Her Greengrass-Verdant gown sparkled in the firelight and the air of amusement that grew about her the longer he stared made her even more beautiful to him. 

She raked her gaze over him and then said, “You’ll do.”

“I-I …”

Daphne beckoned him over with one finger. “Hurry up, Heir Potter. I’ve timed our arrival to the second. Don’t ruin my plans.”

Considering what happened to the last wizard who ticked her off, Harry hurried to comply. He accepted her hand when she offered it and followed her through the Floo. He knew someone must have checked his wand, because that was official procedure for anyone entering the Ministry, but Harry didn’t process anything but her beauty until a wizard in Ministry-livery asked for their invitations.

Harry and Daphne handed them over.

The wizard turned and announced, “Heir Harry Potter, the Earl of the Blood Moors, and Heiress Daphne Greengrass, the Countess of the Immortal Falls.

Harry led Daphne right past several gaping Pureblood Lords and Heirs and onto the dance floor. A waltz started. He cocked an eyebrow in challenge, because he didn’t know if she had permission from her father to waltz with wizards outside her family.

“Oh, please, Heir Potter. I do whatever I want,” Daphne stated, before setting her hand on his shoulder.

Harry placed the hand not holding hers on her waist and jokingly asked, “If I continue to publicly show-up Malfoy, will that earn me the right to your company? Because I’m willing to do that.”

Daphne’s Ice Queen persona cracked the slightest bit. She smirked at him and said, “It’s precious that you don’t think I have our Courtship timed down to the second.” 

Harry almost tripped.


	28. Dark Fluff AU: Lord Voldemort & Female James Potter

Jamie Potter wasn’t going to do this because she was a Gryffindor, and all Gryffindors were meant to be brave.

She wasn’t going to do this because she was a Potter, and all Potters were meant to always do that which was honorable.

Jamie wasn’t going to do this because she was a member of an Ancient House, and owed homage to all members of the Olde Houses.

She wasn’t going to do this to in-debt him to her, so that she could take advantage of him in the future.

Jamie wasn’t going to do this because she was a Light Witch, and all Light Witches were supposed to always do the right thing no matter how difficult.

No.

She was going to do this because _no one_ deserved to be alone.

Taking a deep breath, Jamie knocked on the door of Slytherin Castle. 

It opened not long after to reveal him in all his grotesque glory. 

The Dark Lord, Cursed by the backlash of one of his own rituals a traitor interrupted, was barely three feet tall. He was skeletal, with scales instead of skin; he looked like he hadn’t eaten all year. He had no hair. His eyes were burn-a-witch-at-the-stake-red. And in the middle of his face, he had two slits instead of a nose.

He resembled a creature from the creepiest of nightmares and fairy tales, one that would eat a person alive.

Jamie knelt and placed her hands palm up in her lap, to show she meant no harm. 

“Who are you? What do you want?”

She stared at the five-year-old Dark Lord and said, “I’m Heiress Jamie Potter. I want to be your mother.”

She could see through his eyelids when he blinked.

“No one wants me,” Voldemort said. “Not even when I wasn’t a _monster.”_

“I want you.”

Voldemort shook so hard she was worried one of his bones would break.

“You’ll just give me back. They always gave me back. Even when I was _perfect,_ they still got rid of me.”

Jamie opened her arms and said, “I swear on my honor as a Potter that I will never give you away or send you back if you accept me as your mother. You don’t have to be perfect. If you choose me, I’ll keep you no matter what happens.”

Voldemort threw himself into her lap and hugged her tightly enough she feared he would injure himself. He shook in her arms, breath hitching and heart racing. 

He didn’t cry a single tear.

Jamie kissed his scaly head and cried for him.

“I-I don’t w-want to be here a-alone with the h-house-elves anymore.”

“I’m taking you home. You never have to be alone again.”


	29. New Blood Hair Lore AU: Lucius Malfoy/Lily Evans

Lily Evans sat on the end of her bed, holding the silver hairbrush that had appeared in a flash of magic. It was very heavy, solid silver for sure, with lilies engraved on the back.

It had finally happened.

After five years of learning the customs and protocol of the Wizarding World, Mother Magic acknowledged her as a New Blood.

And now, Lily had the right to choose which wizard could tend her hair and wield her magic.

It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

She left her dorm and ignored the hush of anticipation that filled the common room as she entered it. If everyone thought she was going to choose Potter, they could not be more wrong.

A loud cry rose behind her as she stepped through the guardian portrait with her brush in hand.

Silence fell as she walked through corridors and down staircases. Wide eyes followed her, but she paid them little mind. 

Lily was already dreading the gossip that would fly around the school.

With shaking hands, Lily knocked on the wall outside of the Slytherin common room. A third-year opened it and stepped aside, silently, upon seeing the brush.

She walked over to the Court seating and knelt before the King’s Throne. 

Then Lily looked right up into Lucius Malfoy’s silver eyes and offered him her hairbrush.

He smirked and accepted it.


	30. Not a Mistress AU: Harry Potter/Female Blaise Zabini

Harry Potter stared at the gift in his hands and gathered his nerve. This was, well, it was skipping about every single step there was in a proper courtship. It was an _immense_ amount of pressure to drop on a witch from the get-go.

However, how could Harry do anything else?

Ever since she turned seventeen, Blaise Zabini had been receiving gifts via owl post in the Great Hall at every meal. Harry had spent the past three weeks watching her sit straighter each day, fingers clutching her fork as if it were a weapon.

The gossip was brutal and rampant.

Surely, no one would ever want to bond with her. There was too high of a chance that she would be a Black Widow like her mother. What if she murdered her husband for his fortune? Her beauty was exquisite, but not worth dying over.

On the other hand, as a bound mistress, she would be unable to attack the person to whom she chose to bind herself.

Harry would never forget the insulted disbelief on Blaise’s face when she opened her post on her birthday to three different mistress bracelets. Trinkets had poured in ever since: hair combs, necklaces, armbands, anklets, each bearing the symbol of a kept mistress.

Some wizards, after all, had no desire to bond. They just wanted a witch they could pay to fulfill their every whim.

_It was revolting._

After that first day, Blaise’s beautiful mocha complexion paled each time the post arrived, for every trinket said to everyone who saw it: You won’t make a good wife, but you’ll make a good _whore._

Harry had been waiting for the hair comb he ordered from the Spindle to be forged. Now, though it had arrived exactly as he had commissioned, stunning and expensive, he couldn’t bring himself to offer it to her.

With how angry and betrayed her gorgeous blue eyes were lately, Harry knew he had to make an insanely extravagant gesture. He wanted everyone to know what he thought of her: Blaise was the only witch he wanted as his lady-wife.

He tightened his grip on his gift choice, took a fortifying breath, and entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

“Not interested,” Blaise said, glaring up at a Ravenclaw with dead eyes.

Harry bit his tongue to keep from cursing the Ravenclaw; it wouldn’t do to attack him in front of so many witnesses. Harry would wait until later in the day, wrap himself in the Cloak of Invisibility, and get his revenge then.

The trinkets via post were insulting enough. To have someone present one in person? That was downright cruel.

“But I—”

Harry body-checked the Ravenclaw out of the way and said, “I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart? She said she’s not interested.”

Blaise flinched when she saw the gift in his hand. It hurt _so much_ that she would think so lowly of him. But after what she had been subjected to these past weeks, Harry couldn’t blame her.

He went down on one knee, opened the jewelry box, and asked, “Will the Gryffindor Red Diamonds be enough to convince you to bond with me?”

The silence that fell over the Great Hall was stifling.

“It’s High Lady Isolda Gryffindor’s bonding ring,” Pansy Parkinson gasped from beside Blaise.

Blaise offered Harry her left hand; it shook as he slid the ring on her finger. The ring resized to a perfect fit. She lifted her hand and admired it from multiple angles, before setting her hand in her lap.

Her lower lip trembled, but her voice was steady as Blaise said, “I have a list of people Our House need to declare Blood Feuds against.”

As three wizards within his eyesight paled (one outright fainted), Harry grinned a vicious grin and said, “It will be my pleasure. Your enemies are my enemies.”


	31. Nightmare AU: Neville Longbottom/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter shook as she slipped out of her dorm room.**  
**

Her stomach revolted as images from the nightmare that had woken her resurfaced. She was almost ill. She couldn’t … breathe.

_One, two, three_, Harriet counted. It didn’t help.

She hurried down the staircase to the common room, and then rushed right up the staircase to the boys’ dorms. Harriet placed her hand against the door of the fifth-year boys’ room. She didn’t hesitate long.

Harriet slipped inside and over to the bed that had plants covering the nightstand. She tapped her wand against the closed bed-hangings, and then entered them. It was pitch-black inside.

She bit her lip.

Not wanting to wake him, Harriet cast _“Lumos”_ with the whisper of a breath and the barest thread of magic. A dim white light banished the darkness. The covers rose and fell gently; Harriet shuddered.

Neville Longbottom was still alive.

Harriet had gotten to him in time at the Ministry. Bellatrix Lestrange hadn’t been able to Cruciate him to insanity, as she had done to Neville’s parents.

Without giving it a second thought, Harriet slipped beneath the bedclothes and snuggled up against Neville. He went rigid, then relaxed as she brushed her magic against his.

“What are you doing here, Harriet?”

She was grateful he had dropped her title; he usually did when they were alone. However, these were definitely not their usual surroundings when they were alone. 

“Nightmare. Can I sleep here?”

“Of course. I give you my word–”

Harriet silenced him with her finger. “I don’t need your word to trust your honor, Neville. I know what kind of wizard you are.”

“I … thank you,” he whispered.

Harriet snuggled against his chest and breathed a sigh of relief when he wrapped his arms around her. She knew, with his magic touching her, that Bellatrix’s insane cackle wouldn’t disturb her sleep again.

He was safe.


	32. Slytherin AU: Regulus Black/Lily Evans

Regulus Black sits at the Slytherin table and watches her.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could look at her and not realize the truth; it’s as plain as the gold on a Galleon.

Lily Evans has porcelain skin and features as beautifully arranged as any pureblood. Her hair, when the light hits it just right, is vermilion. She showed up a “New Blood” on the Hogwarts Express, claiming to have an eidetic memory that she used to absorb all the proper rules and protocol from the entire compendium of Blood Moste Pure. She was a hatstall for twelve minutes before it finally called out “Gryffindor,” and due to her intelligence, everyone seems to think it was deciding between that and Ravenclaw.

But what Regulus can’t believe no one else seems to have realized, is that her eyes are the exact same shade as emeralds.

When Lily leaves the Great Hall, loudly, but politely, refusing James Potter’s offer of escort to Hogsmeade, Regulus follows her.

They are the only two people in the entrance hall when Lily turns to face him. The smile on her face doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“Can I help you, Master Black?”

Regulus checks the portraits in sight, but they’re all empty of occupants at the moment. So he tucks his left foot behind his right, places his right fist over his heart, and bows at the waist. He doesn’t hold the position as long as he wishes to, because he can’t chance someone seeing.

When he stands back up, her eyes are narrowed, but delighted. 

“Well, aren’t you a sharp one?” Lily asks softly.

“As you say, Miss Evans.”

Regulus almost chokes on the false name and title. It feels blasphemous to speak to her thus now that he’s figured it out.

“Escort me to Hogsmeade, Master Black,” Lily orders.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus folds his hands behind his back and walks to her side, making sure not to touch her. If he does, even on accident, death awaits him. 

He says, “Thank you for this honor.”

Lily winks at him, hiding her Slytherin family emerald green iris from him for just a moment. Then she turns and leads the way, as her father is leading the way in reforming the Dark Court.

Regulus, wise and intrigued, follows.


	33. Bedtime AU: Lucius Malfoy & Draco Malfoy

As soon as the last guest left, Draco Malfoy rubbed his eyes and then lifted his arms straight up. His father, Lucius Malfoy, picked him up and settled him on his hip.

“That was boring,” Draco pouted as he leaned his head on his father’s shoulder.

Lucius chuckled and kissed Draco’s forehead. 

“I know. You were so well behaved, Draco. I’m proud of you,” Lucius said.

Draco’s cheeks flushed as he smiled. He loved it when his father was proud of him. It had been so hard to stand still so long, and shake so many hands, and not scowl at any of the old witches who pinched his cheeks and told him he was cute. He hadn’t fidgeted much at all as the adults talked about boring stuff he didn’t understand. He hadn’t spilled a single thing on his new robes.

It felt brilliant to be perfect for a whole evening.

Malfoys were always perfect in public.

And even though the ballroom was in his manor in Wiltshire, it still counted as public if other people were visiting.

“I’m tired now, Papa,” Draco whispered, before yawning.

He liked the manor best when people weren’t visiting. Because then Father and Mother were Papa and Mummy. He didn’t have to be clean; he could roll in the grass and mud if he wanted. It didn’t matter what fork he used. 

Malfoys were always perfect in public.

But Draco thought Malfoys were perfect in private.

His father carried him up the stairs, petting his hair the whole way. It was so comforting. He always felt safe in Papa’s arms, because Papa would never ever let anything bad happen to him.

“Let’s get you to bed, Draco,” Lucius said.

Draco stood atop his mattress, arms spread, yawning, as his father cast the spells to clean his teeth and change him into pajamas. When that was done, Lucius swept him back up in his arms, tickled his stomach, and then tucked him in.

“Where’s Dragon?” Draco asked, reaching blindly for his flying dragon plush. His eyelids were so heavy that he couldn’t open them.

“Right here,” Lucius said, tucking the squirming plush in Draco’s arms.

Draco snuggled his face between Dragon’s wings as his plush settled down. Dragon was filled with his mother’s protective magic; Draco never had bad dreams, because his mother had sewn Dragon herself from her own magic.

Dragon felt like love.

“Story,” Draco demanded, though it wasn’t as insistent as usual. Today had been long; he was so, so tired.

“Once upon a time,” Lucius said, “there was a golden dragon that lived in the sky.”

Draco sighed and smiled. “That’s me. Draco.”

This was his favorite story. 

“That’s right,” Lucius said, before stroking his hair gently.

“A-and I fell to Earth be-because”–Draco yawned widely–“you and Mummy loved each other so much t-that …”

Draco fell asleep to the next line of the story.

“That we wished for a miracle. And Mother Magic gave us you, Draco.”


	34. Prank Date AU: Gilderoy Lockhart/Female James Potter

Jamie Potter has never hated being a Gryffindor before this moment. Scratch that, she has never hated her best friend before this moment.

“I was wondering if you would escort me to Hogsmeade,” Jamie says, impressed that she can’t hear her own teeth grinding as she speaks.

Gilderoy Lockhart, the biggest airhead in school, smiles at her. It’s the most disgustingly fake society smile that she has ever seen in her life.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away forever,” Lockhart brags, before winking audaciously.

Jamie sends a wandless stinging hex at Sirius Black, who is howling with laughter, and relishes in his yelp of pain. If he thinks she hasn’t already planned revenge for this dare, then he’s an idiot. Because the minute she gets back from Hogsmeade and this faux outing, she’s double-Grim-daring him to kiss Luciana Malfoy _on the mouth_ during dinner in the Great Hall.


	35. Triad AU: Female Fred Weasley/Harry Potter/George Weasley

Harry Potter holds his godfather’s copy of the Marauder’s Map and watches the dots labeled ‘Georgina Weasley’ and ‘Fredericka Weasley’ sneak around in Professor Snape’s potions ingredients storage room.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he wonders what they’re up to this time.

The dot labeled ‘Severus Snape’ heads toward them and they race away.

Harry knows they have a copy of the Marauder’s Map. His father’s copy, to be exact. It was confiscated by Argus Filch when his dad was a sixth year. And no matter what the Marauders had tried, they hadn’t been able to get it back. So Harry is very impressed that the Weasley twins managed to steal it and figure out how it worked on their own.

He folds his copy of the Map, sticks it in his book-bag, and pulls out his potions textbook.

Georgina and Fredericka come rushing around the corner. Their hair is, in his opinion, even more beautiful that his mother’s. Their brown eyes sparkle with delightful mischief. 

Harry steps between them and says, “Thanks for this. You’re much better at potions than I am.”

It’s a lie. He’s brilliant at potions. He’s a Potter; it’s in his blood.

But Harry will be considered an inept disgrace before he will show any aptitude in Snape’s class; the git has stolen enough Potter recipes during his father’s school years, claiming them as his own.

“Potter, Weasleys! Detention!” Snape snarls as he comes around the corner.

Harry stares at Snape like he thinks the professor has lost his mind. “For … walking down a corridor?”

“For breaking into my potions stores! I know it was you,” Snape spat.

“And you just–”

“–happened to delay–”

“–giving us detention–”

“–after catching us in the act–”

“–until now?” Georgina finishes.

“We were not in your potions stores,” Harry says. 

It’s true. The twins had been, but he hadn’t.

“And I’m willing to swear an oath to that in the Headmaster’s Office. So we won’t be serving that detention, Professor Snape. When you find the real culprits, please give them my compliments,” Harry says, before walking away from Snape’s spluttering rage.

Georgina and Fredericka each loop an arm through his. Harry stutter-steps. He’s more emotionally invested in them than he should be. They’re twins, Sacred Twenty-Eight twins. Harry’s more likely to accidentally time travel and become Godric Gryffindor’s personal apprentice than he is to win their hearts.

All either of them would have to do is crook a finger, and any wizard would sprint to their sides. Merlin, Draco Malfoy himself would break his betrothal contract with Pansy Parkinson, and end a centuries long Blood Feud, to have them.

The power that comes with bonding twins is immense.

“Potter!” Snape yells after him.

Harry ignores it and turns the corner that will lead them up towards Gryffindor Tower.

As soon as they round the corner, Georgina and Fredericka stop walking.

“Is everythi–?”

Harry almost swallows his tongue when they kiss his cheeks, one on either side. His face catches fire with a blush. He feels light-headed.

“Grow up fast, Harry–”

“–we’re waiting to–”

“–keep you forever.”


	36. Abduction AU: Lucius Malfoy/Lily Evans & James Potter/Lily Evans

Lily Evans hated how the Marauders were looking at her. Their gazes spoke of betrayal, of loss, of disbelief. They were rigid, their faces twisted into macabre masks of emotion. If she were prone to violence, Lily would march right up to them and slap them.

What right did they have to look at her like that? 

_They had betrayed her._

Not the other way around. They were the ones who had lied, who had deceived her into believing that they really cared.

“Lil—”

Lily waved her hand through the air as if it were a sword—sharp and lethal. 

James Potter had been the worst two-faced man of all. He pretended to be kind and caring; who wouldn’t trust Heir Potter? 

_He’s so honorable_, she thought sarcastically. 

Potter, along with the rest of the Marauders, had promised to keep her safe. They had sworn that they would rescue her. Lily had heard them screaming it as Voldemort’s Death Eaters escaped with her.

Like an idiot, Lily had waited for them. 

She had believed them.

_Morgana, she had believed them!_

As Voldemort tortured her, Lily waited. As Voldemort starved her, Lily waited. As Voldemort locked her in a filthy dungeon cell with no light for days on end, _Lily waited._

But then Voldemort had threatened something that Lily would rather die than experience, and so she had called for Lucius Malfoy with her magic—the only wizard other than Potter who had professed to love her. 

Malfoy—the Marauders’ greatest nemesis. 

Malfoy—who would never threaten a woman as Voldemort had.

Malfoy—who was likely to kill her out of pity.

Lucius had come, sneaking through the dungeons. 

Lucius had saved her, betraying the Dark Lord. 

Lucius loved her, and he proved it!

And now, seven months later, the Marauders thought that they had any right to her? They thought that Lily would return to the Order of the Phoenix and be their friend and Potter’s fiancee again? 

Did they _really_ think Lily would offer them the trust they had completely obliterated? 

As far as Lily was concerned, all the promises exchanged between them were null and void. She would never forgive them and she would never trust them again.

Lily leaned back against her husband as Lucius’s arms came around to encircle her stomach. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Lucius attacked the minute the Marauders illegally entered their home. He had become increasingly protective with each day of her pregnancy. 

He didn’t abandon her, or leave Lily vulnerable. He sent Vassals off to accomplish anything that required his presence. 

Lucius had given her a necklace made from his magic that could repel Voldemort himself. Lucius, the one the Marauders called “an untrustworthy Death Eater” and “a faithless Slytherin,” kept his promises.

_The vaunted Gryffindors didn’t._

“Lily, please—”

Lips twisted in disgust, Lily stared at her former friends and fiance, and said, “I never want to see you again as long as I live.”

Potter took a step forward, but a ward divided the room in half, humming with power; it zapped him when he touched it. He swore vociferously.

“Get out of our home while I’m still willing to let you leave alive,” Lucius said.

“We’re not leaving Lily here!” Lupin yelled. He had his wand aimed at Lucius’s head, but his gaze kept straying to Lily’s stomach.

Lily laughed bitterly. It was too little, too late. Nothing they could say would change her mind.

“Oh, so it’s all right to leave me in Voldemort’s care for weeks on end, but my lord-husband can’t be trusted?”

“Husband?” Potter paled and swayed.

Lily turned to Sirius Black, who had been quiet the entire time. His face was more solemn than she had ever seen it. Of everyone here, she blamed him the most. Weren’t the Blacks supposed to be all-powerful and all-Seeing? If Blacks were so special, so vaunted of Seers, then why hadn’t Lily been found when she was held captive by Voldemort?

_Why?_

Lily wanted to open her mouth and accuse Sirius of being just like his mother: a monster. She wanted to ask Sirius when he decided to follow in Walburga Black’s footsteps and rip out people’s hearts. 

But she wouldn’t.

Even though Sirius had failed her, he was still her chosen brother. Unfortunately, it seemed he was the same quality of sibling that Petunia was.

“You’re happy?” asked Sirius. 

That was it—two words. 

After Lily nodded, Sirius turned to the rest of the Marauders and said, “We’re leaving.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not!”

“Now!” Sirius snarled. 

“No!” Potter bit out.

“We, of all people, should recognize that some things are irreparable,” Sirius stated, gesturing to the empty space where Peter Pettigrew had always stood just behind him and Potter.

Just thinking Pettigrew’s name made Lily want to vomit. The little rat bastard had been the one to tell Voldemort about her magical inheritance, after Potter stupidly bragged about it to the Marauders. And then Pettigrew had scurried off to his master and given away a scheduled outing location and time, so that Voldemort could have a pet Alchemist.

“This is different!”

“Lily-Flower didn’t betray us. Wormtail did!”

Lucius pointed his wand at them, the tip glowing a sickly green. He snapped, “Get out, or I’m going to kill you all.”

“We can’t leave her here! Malfoy’s violent! He probably hits Lil—” 

Bartemius Crouch Jr., their Second Vassal, stepped out from behind the nearest set of drapes and Petrified Potter.

Severus Snape, their First Vassal, dropped his Disillusionment Charm, walked right through the ward in the middle of the room, and pointed his wand at Potter’s fallen body. 

“One more word,” he sneered, “and I’ll eviscerate you with a spell I invented. Only, this time, you have no way of stealing the counter-curse.”

The Marauders stared at Lily, and then the three wizards protecting her. 

She would never doubt their Vassals’ loyalty, not after Lily used her Alchemy to turn their Dark Marks into Vassal Bonds to the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. She freed them from the Slave Brands their parents forced on them.

_They were hers._

The intruders left one by one, Lupin having to physically drag Potter out of the room; Barty had thrown a bone-breaking curse at him when he went for his wand. They wouldn’t trust the Marauders with a wand in her presence.

Finally, Sirius was the only one left. He took several steps forward, until the tips of his dragon-hide boots almost touched the ward. He ignored Severus’s wand digging into his throat.

“May I help you?” Lucius asked, voice hard and mocking.

“I know, okay? I know that I have no right to say this, considering how badly I failed … but I’m going to say it anyway." 

Sirius stared at Lucius, his eyes revealing he was on the cusp of succumbing to the Black family madness. It hurt to know he loved her so dearly that her abduction had almost broken his Black blood heart.

And yet … that wasn’t enough for Lily to forgive him. 

"Keep her safe.”

“You’re right,” Lucius sneered as he wrapped Lily in his arms, “you have no right to say that. Get out, Black, and leave protecting witches to people who don’t turn their backs on their families.”

Sirius reeled back, as if he had been slapped across the mouth. 

Lucius, ever one to hurt their enemies as deeply as possible, added, “Black, since you seem to be a curse of misfortune upon everyone who associates with you, send Regulus to us—if you ever loved him at all—so Lily can remove the Dark Mark your mother forced him to accept _before_ your existence gets him killed.”

Sirius staggered, as if he had been slit open from throat to pelvis.

For the first time since he said he loved her as a sister when they were thirteen, Lily didn’t reach out to catch Sirius.

Lily turned around and walked away.

She didn’t look back.


	37. Bonding Stone AU: Theodore Nott/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter clutched the stone in her hand. 

She didn’t want to do this, to be honest, but Dumbledore had said it was the only way. No matter how many arguments she offered, all she got was the same response.

_“It’s the only way.”_

So Harriet gritted her teeth and accepted it, no matter how much she didn’t want to do so. Because, surely, if they worked hard enough at it, she and Ron would be able to learn to love each other.

Still, when the moment came to offer the bonding stone — Morgana, she had to do it right away, or she wouldn’t have been able to force herself to do it at all — Harriet couldn’t force a single word past her lips. 

Not a single word. 

Because Harriet knew that if she opened her mouth at all, she would tell her friend to keep his hands to himself.

“No, I’m not touching that,” Ron said, eyeing the glowing stone in Harriet’s hand. 

“Dumbledore said —”

“I’ll touch it, Heiress Potter.” 

Theodore Nott stepped out of the shadows, a triumphant smirk on his face. Reaching forward, he palmed the bonding stone; pleasure avalanched through Harriet as their magic joined together.

Harriet gulped and stared at Theo’s hand over hers. With Dumbledore’s admonitions ringing in her ears, she hadn’t dared to imagine being bonded to the Slytherin who had snuck his way into her heart. It would be much too dangerous; Harriet couldn’t risk her life and safety — not when her parents had died to save her.

“Um, Nott?” Harriet asked, her voice shaking, much to her horror.

Chuckling wickedly, Theo leaned forward into Harriet’s personal space. He teased, “Actually, my name is lord-husband.”

Ron spluttered loudly, his face turning as red as his hair. 

“Oh! Er, r-right, um, I knew th-that,” Harriet stuttered.

“Good.” 

Theo backed Harriet against a wall and cast a shield around them — likely to protect them from Ron once he remembered he had a wand — and said, “Now explain to me why you were going to let a Blood Traitor have access to your family magics.”

“D-Dumbledore said —”

“Well, Dumbledore doesn’t have a say anymore. I’m already seventeen; that means his stupid plots have to come through me now.” 

Harriet leaned her forehead against Theo’s shoulder and shook. When was the last time someone had offered to handle things for her? She couldn’t remember. It was so nice to have that weight taken off her shoulders for a change.

Theo’s lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “You’re safe now. My father is his First Vassal. The Dark Lord literally cannot harm you, darling.”

Bursting into tears, Harriet collapsed in her husband’s arms. Dumbledore had lied; there was another way. Theo had given it to her.


	38. Daemon AU: Zacharias Smith/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter jolted in her seat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. How dare Stygian touch another Daemon? Morgana, she didn’t know what was worse: the stunned silence of everyone else in the Herbology Greenhouse, or the piercing stare boring into her.

“Heiress Potter?” Zacharias Smith said, looking equally smug and stunned.

Warm fur brushed along her magic as Stygian snuggled deeper against Zach’s Daemon.

“Stygian, get over here!”

No one had ever touched Stygian before, for such things were taboo. It was a crime to touch someone else’s soul without express permission — the kind of crime that got people sent to Azkaban.

And, of course, Stygian had never touched anyone else, or another Daemon before either. 

“No! I like Aurelian!” Stygian replied, before wrapping himself entirely around the smaller, blonde vixen.

Harriet buried her head in her hands and wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She wished that Voldemort or his Death Eaters would suddenly decide that now was a good time to attack. She wished, desperately, to be anywhere else.

Stygian couldn’t have revealed her feelings for Heir Zacharias Smith in a more blatant and public manner.

She didn’t look up when tools clattered onto a work table. She didn’t look up when footsteps approached her. She didn’t look up when a warm presence stopped at her side. Harriet didn’t look up until Zach gently pulled her hands away from her face and smiled down at her; it was cocky as always, but kinder than she had ever before seen.

Zach kissed her bare wrist, scraped his teeth along the skin — Harriet shivered — and purred, “I’ll have the Courtship Bracelet delivered tomorrow.”

As their classmates exploded with chaos, Harriet stared into Zach’s eyes — the gentle brush of mingling fox fur soothing her magic — and decided the Sorting Hat had been right.

If Stygian was any indication, Harriet should have been a Slytherin.


	39. Prove It! AU: Male Lily Evans/Female James Potter

“Heiress Potter!”

“What do you want, Evans?”

Jamie Potter stands, arms crossed and glaring. It’s a miracle that he caught her without Sirius Black at her side. The Black Heir must currently be in detention; it’s just about the only thing that keeps him from his cousin’s side.

“Heiress Potter, would you allow me to escort you to Hogsmeade tomorrow? I really like you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Lyle Evans jerks back at the suspicious question, mouth dry and hands fisted. He isn’t sure why he’s so surprised, but he is. He was nothing short of a right prat to Jamie the last few years. But that was before Lyle fell in love with her; surely, she will forgive him now.

He’s matured and everything!

“Because it’s the truth,” Lyle says, unable to stop his voice from shaking. 

He’s never been in love before, and hearing Jamie ask that question in response to his implied confession hurts like nothing he’s ever felt before. She will forgive him, won’t she? All their history and past hurts won’t keep them apart, will it?

“Again, why should I believe you?” Jamie asks, eyes narrowed. 

She keeps glancing around, as if she expects Severus Snape to jump out and curse her or something. Her wand is in her hand. Lyle hates that he and Severus have done this, loathes that she doesn’t feel safe alone with him.

He’s going to change that. 

He _will._

_And he won’t let anything stop him._

Lyle’s never been good with words that aren’t academic. He can tell you how to write an essay for any subject in a manner that will please their professors, but he can’t explain his feelings. He’s never felt this way before. He doesn’t have any experience on which to draw.

As Lyle stands there, tongue tripping over non-existent words, Jamie’s face softens the slightest bit.

“Prove it,” Jamie says, before walking away.

Lyle isn’t sure how to do that, but he will figure it out. When something matters to him, he applies himself whole-heartedly to the endeavor. Jamie Potter, with her ebony hair and beguiling hazel eyes, is worth it.

He watches her swishing hips, leaving him behind, and vows, “I’ll prove I’m sincere. Just you wait, Heiress Potter. Just you wait.”


	40. Time Travel ABO: Orion Black/Female Harry Potter

Orion Black has spent his whole life learning about what his family expects from him. He’s going to be the Alpha Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as soon as he comes of age, since his father is only a Beta. That means that every magical person with Black blood will owe him loyalty. But it also means that he’ll be responsible for protecting and guiding the Blacks. 

He’s not going to forget that.

Other pureblood lords: Goyle and Crabbe, for example, reap all the rewards and never do anything to repay the loyalty shown them. 

Orion finds that despicable. Their incompetence as Pack Leaders is unacceptable.

Wizards and witches throw children at him when he reaches his majority—Betas, the lot of them—offering their offspring like sacrifices to the gods. 

He’ll never pick one of them, because the whole situation disgusts him. A real sire or dam, who’s raised a pup that could actually be a proper mate, wouldn’t want to give their pup away—they would make a suitor earn the right.

“Not a chance,” Orion murmurs as Lady McLaggen prods her blonde Beta daughter towards him. 

Orion turns away, pretending he hasn’t seen them, and leaves the room.

He finds himself out on the terrace; it’s empty. Charlus Potter’s parties are always interesting enough to keep people inside, so Orion knows he can enjoy the peace. He walks down toward the nearest seating area; he needs a short reprieve and then he’ll be ready to brave the dragons again.

“What?” Orion whispers, stunned, when he gets there. 

The couch is occupied by a young woman, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age. Her cheekbones scream pureblood, and her skin is white, appearing smooth to the touch. Her hair is as black as Orion’s surname and—captivatingly—coming loose of its pins.

He hadn’t smelled her at all. He still can’t smell her!

Intrigued, Orion steps forward. 

Closed eyes snap open, revealing glittering emeralds. A wand stabs him in the chest and the witch shifts, no trace of sleep in her eyes as she stands up. 

“Who are you?” she demands.

The cloud blocking the moon drifts at that moment, illuminating the collar around her neck. It’s an Omega’s collar and it’s engraved with the Potter crest. 

“Orion Black, Alpha Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” he says as he steps backward and bows, while simultaneously baring his throat. He wants so much to reach out and touch—he’s finally found someone worthy—but he knows if he does so, he’ll never get to keep her.

She doesn’t give any ground, but her eyes narrow, as if she expects Orion to attack her at any moment.

“Why are you here?” she asks. 

Something about the way she purses her lips, just a hint of teeth showing, tells Orion that lying would be a foolish idea. His instincts have never led him wrong.

“I wanted to escape the party,” Orion says. 

“I see.”

Everything in Orion urges him to leap forward and scent this Omega. This is exactly what he’s been looking for: breeding, strength, power—it nigh wafts off her. But any attempt to touch what isn’t lawfully his will result in criminal charges not even he can escape. 

“May I have your name?” Orion asks, tongue thick in his mouth.

The answer is so long in coming that he thinks she finds him intolerable. 

And then that soft, husky voice says, “Halvinia Potter, Omega Heiress of the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter.”

A throat clears. Orion turns, shocked to see that two people have snuck up on him. 

Dorea Potter, his cousin, nods politely to him and then walks over and loops an arm around Halvinia’s waist. 

“The guests are getting rowdy. We’ll feel better if we know you’re safely in your chambers.”

Halvinia nods her immediate agreement, which seems to surprise Dorea. 

Charlus Potter buries his face in Halvinia’s hair, scenting her, and Orion swallows the growl that wants to rip from his throat. He can do nothing to stop his Alpha Aura from filling the night air with the scent of lightning.

“Let’s go, dear one,” Dorea says.

Halvinia pauses and stares right at Orion, saying, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alpha Lord Black.”

Blood roars through Orion’s body at that form of address. He would like nothing more than to be this Omega’s Alpha Lord. 

“The pleasure was mine,” Orion says, genuinely meaning it for the first time in his life.

After Dorea and Halvinia have reentered the manor, Charlus shoves his wand into Orion’s throat. Orion does nothing to stop him; he’d do the same if their positions were reversed. 

“If you’re ever found unchaperoned with my sister again, I’ll kill you,” Charlus hisses.

“If you let anyone other than me court her, I’ll kill them,” Orion replies, lips curved in a mocking smile. “I don’t share.”

The smile on Charlus’s face is dark, vicious, so unlike a Gryffindor that Orion gets chills down his spine. Charlus’s Alpha Aura is so strong of hemlock that Orion can taste it on his tongue.

“Excellent,” Charlus growls, “because I have enemies and that saves me assassination fees.”


	41. Soul-Mate Words AU: Harry Potter/Female Terry Boot

Terri Boot walked down to the Ravenclaw common room with a groan. If she had known being a prefect meant alerts sounding in her bed whenever the common room door opened after curfew, she would have refused.

If it was the same ickle firsties as last week, thinking they managed to fool the spells Rowena Ravenclaw placed herself, Terri would burn their homework and make them do it all again.

If she wasn’t going to get any sleep, neither would they. 

Terri reached the common room just in time to see Harry Potter remove a Cloak of Invisibility; it was an open secret he had one — everyone knew he had inherited it and a special map of Hogwarts from his father. 

Harry sat on the armchair nearest the fireplace; something reflected the firelight into the room from his hair. Was that a tiara? Potter was wearing a tiara?

Morgana, this was not worth being woken.

“_You look marvelous in that tiara_ —” Terri sneered, stalking across the room to take him to task. 

Terri blinked rapidly at what she saw when she was closer. This was the reason she wasn’t asleep in her warm bed?

_Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure._

“Is that Ravenclaw’s diadem? Heir Potter! Did you find Ravenclaw’s diadem?”

It had been lost for centuries! How could he have possibly found it? How would he have even known where to look?

Harry grinned, looking utterly delighted at her question, and pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the words she had just spoken to him. 

“Well, how else was I supposed to find you?”

The soul-words on Terri’s calf burned. She collapsed onto the sofa. Morgana, he was her soul-mate. Harry was her soul-mate! And he had tracked down the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw just to find her.

Wow.

But still …

Terri stood and frowned at him. “I’m tired and I’m going back to bed. You owe me for waking me up when we have a Potions exam tomorrow.”

“Will flowers work?” Harry called after her, laughing.

The bloody git was laughing at her. Rude!

“Only if they mean Being an inconsiderate git will not get me any kisses!”


	42. Hair Lore AU: Lucius Malfoy/Female James Potter & Theodore Nott/Female Harry Potter

Lucius Malfoy’s hands shake as he brushes his lady-wife’s hair. Tears trickle down his cheeks, proving that — despite what most people assume — he does have a heart. It’s breaking, just a little bit, in his chest.

“Oh, Lucius,” Josephine Malfoy says, tears in her own eyes.

“I-I knew t-today would come,” Lucius stutters, “b-but it f-feels like it c-came too s-soon.”

Earlier today, his little princess bonded with Theodore Nott. Earlier today, as he styled her hair for her bonding ceremony for her lord-husband, was the last time he got to tend to his beloved daughter’s hair.

It hurts so much.

The ache in his chest is viciously bittersweet.

He still remembers crafting her hairbrush from the family blood magic for her fifth birthday. He remembers tending to her hair for the very first time, brushing and braiding it and tying it in hazel ribbons that match her eyes. Lucius recalls the countless days he’s tended it since, helping protect his precious princess by building her a magic reserve to keep her safe.

And now … it’s not his right anymore.

Handing Heir Nott his beloved daughter’s hairbrush today was the hardest thing that Lucius has had to do in a very long time.

“I love you, Lucius,” Josephine says, turning in her seat to hug him, even though it surely pulls uncomfortably on her hair.

“And I you, my darling,” Lucius replies. 

He twines his fingers in his lady-wife’s ebony hair, suddenly and irrationally terrified that his Josephine will leave him too.

As if she can read his mind, Josephine kisses Lucius’s chest, right over his heart, and vows, “I’m right here, Lucius, and I’ll never leave you by choice.”

Lucius holds on; he doesn’t let go.


	43. Love Potion AU: Bellatrix Lestrange/Lily Evans

Bellatrix Black rolled her eyes as she approached the trio of Gryffindors outside the library. She didn’t even have to be close enough to hear what was going on to know that James Potter was shamelessly throwing himself at her girlfriend again.

To be fair — Bellatrix didn’t want to be fair — Potter had no idea that she and Lily Evans were Courting. Bellatrix’s parents had refused to acknowledge that a Mudblood could become a New Blood, and so Bellatrix was still awaiting the approval from the appeal she had sent to her Grandfather Arcturus.

Bellatrix knew he would approve it. She was his favorite grandchild.

And Lily — beautiful, intelligent Lily — was nothing like the disgusting Mudblood Andromeda had run off with. It was her sister’s foolish actions that had earned Bellatrix a refusal to seek Lily’s hand. She wasn’t ever going to forgive Andromeda for that.

“Can I please escort you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Lily-Flower?” Potter asked.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and wondered what sharp retort would turn Potter down. Lily seemed to have a new cutting rejection every week.

“Of course!” Lily said.

What?

_What?_

“What?” Sirius Black asked, mouth agape.

“Really?” Potter asked, jaw dropped and eyes wide.

“Yes, really,” Lily replied, before laughing.

Bellatrix stormed down the hallway. Something was terribly wrong; Lily would never cheat on her. Never. There was no chance that she would agree to an outing with Potter. Lily hated him. She thought he was an arrogant toe-rag.

“Way to go Prongs!” Sirius chuckled, elbowing Potter in the side.

When Bellatrix got close enough, her rage grew. If it wouldn’t land her in Azkaban, she would have started throwing Cruciatus Curses.

Lily’s gorgeous green eyes had a gold-sheen overlay. She was under a love potion.

_“Stupefy!”_ Bellatrix snarled, catching Lily in her arms. 

“What are you doing, Bellatrix?”

“Let her go!”

Bellatrix was so livid that she shook with rage as she scooped Lily up in her arms. She didn’t even need a featherlight charm to do it; Lily was petite.

There was nothing in the entire world that Bellatrix despised more than love potions — not even Mudbloods and Blood Traitors.

It literally couldn’t have been Potter. His family magic wouldn’t have allowed it. Stealing someone’s consent was in no way honorable, and the Potter family magic was built on honor. They were, after all, the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter.

And for all that Sirius had been more distant from the family since he Sorted Gryffindor, Bellatrix didn’t want to believe her cousin would do such a thing — regardless of how much he loved Potter as a second brother.

Still …

Bellatrix stared right at Sirius; whatever he saw in her eyes had him taking a quick step backwards. “Give me you word, right now, that you’re not the one who love potioned Lily.”

“What?” Sirius rasped, paling rapidly.

Potter’s wand fell from his hand and clattered on the floor as he asked, “She’s love potioned?”

“Obviously,” Bellatrix snarled. “If the golden-sheen to her eyes wasn’t clue enough, her agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with you should have been!”

“I swear, Bellatrix. I would never —” Sirius trembled and stared at Lily with horror in his eyes. 

“I’m taking her to the Hospital Wing,” Bellatrix said.

As much as she wanted to hunt down whoever had done this and make the person responsible suffer, she was more concerned with getting the love potion flushed out of Lily’s body. But when that was done, when Lily was safe again, Bellatrix would remind Hogwarts why nothing was more terrifying than a Black seeking vengeance.

“We’ll figure out who did this,” Sirius said, a tic in his jaw, eyes vicious.

Bellatrix smirked and said, “Save me some organs to rip out when you do.”

“Deal.”

Bellatrix turned to leave, but couldn’t without a final cutting comment. Potter came from a family of potions experts; it was disgraceful that he hadn’t noticed — or had ignored — that Lily was under the influence of a love potion.

“Potter, set your sights elsewhere. I’m expecting the approval from my Paterfamilias any day. Lily’s going to be my lady-wife. _Not yours_.”

Potter flinched and didn’t say a word.


	44. Asexual AU: Lucius Malfoy/Female James Potter

Jadith Potter twirled the ribbon through her fingers, her heart in her throat. She wasn’t ready for this. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. She knew there would be no cruelty or social repercussions from it, but she was still nervous.

She wasn’t stupid. 

Jadith had seen herself in a mirror — multiple times. She was curvy in all the right places, her ebony hair was stunning, her hazel eyes had been described as “bewitching” by more than one wizard within her range of hearing. She wasn’t the most beautiful witch of the generation (only a witch with an enormous ego would even dare compare herself to the stunning perfection that was Regina Black), but her looks were often commented on favorably.

She knew what type of bonding wizards thought of when they looked at her.

Wizards wanted her gracing their sheets, hair loose and splayed across their pillows, in a sheer nightgown — if they imagined her in any clothes at all.

And Jadith was never going to be able to give any wizard that.

She stroked the long strand of ribbon one more time — it had four horizontal stripes: black, gray, white, purple — and then tied it around her neck in an elaborate bow. The ends dangled down between her breasts, a splash of color against the white of her ball gown.

Tonight was the Bonding Ball.

Once every ten years, in the final year of the decade, a ball was held for single wizards and witches who were interested in entering a Courtship or finding a Bonded. 

Jadith was a year out of Hogwarts and had never even been on a Courtship Date. She had asked her parents to announce she wasn’t accepting any offers, and would be presented at the Bonding Ball after her graduation.

For all that she was a Gryffindor, Jadith was still nervous about outing herself. Because most wizards and witches wanted a bonded who would be willing to grace their bed. And while there was nothing wrong with that, Jadith wasn’t the slightest bit interested in such things.

She had known since she was twelve years old that she was asexual.

All she could do, now, was put herself out there and hope at least some of the others at the Bonding Ball would be wearing the same ribbon she was. And, of course, that they wouldn’t all be gits that she already hated if such were the case.

A knock sounded on her bedroom door.

“Are you ready, darling?” Dorea Potter asked.

“Yes, Mum! I’m coming,” Jadith said, before joining her mum in the corridor outside her bedchambers.

“You are beautiful, darling,” Dorea said, cupping Jadith’s cheek. “Your father will have to beat the wizards off with a Beater’s bat.”

“Hah! And see if I don’t!” Charlus Potter declared.

Jadith laughed, tension melting from her shoulders, as she saw that her father was holding an actual Quidditch Beater’s bat. He tapped it against his shoulder and glowered.

“Let’s move along now. We don’t want to be unfashionably late. It’s a close line, dear ones,” Dorea said.

Jadith grabbed ahold of the Portkey her father held out, as did her mother; it activated as soon as he said, “Selwyn Manor.”

She squeezed her eyes shut upon landing. Jadith had finally mastered not stumbling while coming out of a Portkey, but it always made her nauseous. When she opened her eyes again, Jadith almost swallowed her tongue.

The Malfoys were right ahead of them, having obviously just arrived before she and her parents. Lucius Malfoy was wearing white robes; he had a black, gray, white, and purple horizontal striped ribbon around his neck.

Jadith couldn’t even process the various greetings happening around her. She was staring right into his wide gray eyes, which were as surprised as her own. 

There had been an almost two-year period in which Jadith had wondered if she might be able to tolerate the bonding bed, just so she could be with Lucius. In the end, she had decided they both deserved better than that; he deserved a lady-wife who wouldn’t secretly resent the whole thing, and she deserved a lord-husband who wouldn’t ask her to do something she found detestable.

But now …

“Bond with me,” Jadith demanded, ignoring the awkward silence that fell between his parents and hers.

Lucius blinked rapidly, stunned, and then he smirked at her and said, “That works for me, Potter.”

“Yule or the New Year Festival?” Lucretia Malfoy inquired, a fond smile on her face.

Dorea grinned and replied, “The New Year Festival would be best; it’s always good to have extra time for the unexpected issues that will appear during planning and preparation.”

This was real. She could have this — have Lucius — and not ever have to bed him. Morgana, this was everything.

Jadith was Blessed.


	45. Love Letters AU: Lord Voldemort/Female Harry Potter

Lord Voldemort eyes the parchment attached to the snowy owl suspiciously; it’s unmistakably Potter’s owl. What is this? He casts multiple detection charms on the letter, but they all come back negative. Finally, he unties the letter and opens it.

_Dear Lord Voldemort,_

_I respectfully request that you decline from speaking in Parseltongue the next time you capture me. It’s hard to escape when I want to convince you we should bond, instead, and renew Slytherin’s great bloodline._

_Yours,_

_Heiress Potter_

“What! Is Potter owling me love letters?” 

The blasted owl hoots at him and nods.

Grumbling, Voldemort grabs a piece of very high-quality parchment, his finest quill, his greenest ink, and then writes a reply and sends it off.

_Dear Heiress Potter,_

_Next time I capture you, I’ll use snakes to tie you up, speak Parseltongue for no less than one hour, and then allow you to convince me that we should be bonded._

_Mine,_

_Lord Voldemort_


	46. Heiress Slytherin AU: Bartemius Crouch Jr./Female Harry Potter

When Harriet Potter first realized that Mad-Eye Moody was Bartemius Crouch Jr., she felt betrayed. 

_Didn’t Tom trust her? _

Harriet hadn’t betrayed him or their secret. 

She had understood what Tom meant in her second year—that they were very similar—and so she hadn’t destroyed the diary, even though she told Dumbledore she had. In fact, she had taken it to the Dursleys’ for the summer.

Harriet smirked when she remembered Piers Polkiss’s sudden, unexplainable illness and death. 

No one had thought about the battered book he had stolen from _the freak_. And by the time anyone might have considered it, which a Muggle never would, Tom had been resurrected; he had taken the diary with him.

Harriet had been learning about the Dark side ever since. 

Tom came to teach her, took her out to lunch, bought her clothes, and even killed the dangerous escaped convict that was after Harriet’s life.

Now a fourth year, she was Tom’s heiress, and so she didn’t understand why Tom hadn’t told her who Moody really was. Harriet stared at the Marauder’s Map, feeling a sense of betrayal well in her chest.

“Don’t be foolish. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” 

Determined, Harriet grabbed her invisibility cloak and snuck out of the tower, following the dot on the Marauder’s Map that would lead her to her prey. She knew the moment Barty saw her with that magical eye, because he spun around and led the way to his chambers.

After the door closed, ‘Moody’ fell to his knees. 

The Polyjuice wore off at that moment, and she found herself staring at Barty’s familiar features, basking in his familiar magic. The dark aura that surrounded him was intoxicating; it called her magic like honey to a fly. What wouldn’t she give to be his bonded? 

“Why?”

“My Lord commanded me to watch over you until your fifteenth birthday, my lady. He didn’t want you alone in the school without protection with so many foreigners here,” Barty said.

“And then… ?” 

There had to be more to it than that. Barty was one of Tom’s favorite Death Eaters, constantly fulfilling tasks and completing missions for him.

“And then I am a gift to you, to use as you will,” Barty said.

_Tom approved. He approved of the wizard she wanted!_

Harriet tenderly cupped Barty’s cheek. “I treat my gifts well, Barty.”

Barty stared at her, wide eyed, as if he were stunned. Had he thought Tom meant for her to use him as her personal bodyguard? 

“My lady, surely you don’t mean — you can do so much better than me!”

“What I can or can’t do doesn’t matter. _I want you_. As long as you’re willing, I’m keeping you and making you mine.”

His magic was twice as intoxicating as before when he said, “I’m honored. Keep me, my lady.”

Harriet’s magic writhed with anticipation. “I will.”


	47. Parley AU: Sirius Black/Female James Potter

When it came to the Black family, Sirius was a rebel. So much so, that his mum—may she burn eternally—called him the “blood-traitor” of the family. For he refused to obey her ridiculous commands.

According to Regulus, the harpy had blasted him off the family tapestry for what she called “running away.” To this day, Sirius had always considered it “seeking sanctuary from the insanity of his mother and Grimmauld Place.”

The Potters—his best friend’s family—gave him sanctuary. 

They sheltered, clothed, and loved him when his own family refused to acknowledge his existence.

Those few short years were the best of his life, until Jamie had kissed him for the first time. Sirius was so grateful she had; with everything the Potters had done for him, he never would have dared to ask for more, regardless of his feelings.

And now … now the world was trying to rip that hard-earned happiness away from him.

Sirius wouldn’t let it.

Fate could not have his son.

With Dumbledore’s words ringing in his ears, Sirius Apparated to Grimmauld Place. He hadn’t set foot inside since he had run away, but he knew Bellatrix would be there. His mother always had tea with Aunt Druella and cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa at this time on Saturdays.

“Ick—”

“I need to parley with the Dark Lord. Immediately,” Sirius interrupted. He didn’t have time for any delays. Dumbledore had said a spy overheard part of the prophecy. He wasn’t taking any chances with his family.

“I see you’ve finally seen reason, Sirius,” Walburga said, sounding smug. 

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed and she dropped the sing-song tone she used just to tease and annoy him. “As one of his Vassals, I accept your offer of parley.”

“Excellent. Now. There’s no time to waste, Bella.”

She stood quickly at the use of the childhood nickname he had abandoned years before. Then, before he could even ask where they were going — as if she would be foolish enough to tell him — Bellatrix grabbed his arm and Side-Along Apparated him.

“My Lord, my cousin Sirius has come to parley,” Bellatrix said, after letting go of Sirius and curtsying deeply.

“Has he?”

Sirius had never wished so much that he had murdered someone as he did when he saw Severus Snape standing before the Dark Lord’s desk with a smug, vicious smirk on his face. Of course Snivellus would target their children as revenge. 

“Neutrality.”

The Dark Lord looked intrigued as he tapped his long fingers together. “Oh?”

“I offer a Vow of Neutrality on behalf of the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter and all of our Magically Bound Allies.”

Scarlet eyes widened the slightest bit. “In return for what?”

“A Vow of Neutrality from you personally, binding yourself and all your Vassals and Death Eaters and everyone who owes you allegiance in perpetuity, to never act against the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter or any of our Magically Bound Allies.”

The smirk that appeared on the Dark Lord’s face was cruel. “Would you really?”

“I’m not sacrificing my family over a change in government. Be High Lord. Be King. Hell, be Emperor if you want, just do it without destroying all your future potential subjects. A fourth of the Ancient Houses would be bound by my word. That’s a lot of opposition out of your way.”

Sirius squared his shoulders and met the Dark Lord’s stare head on.

“Prove you’re not a useless despot desperate to be a dictator.”

The Dark Lord stood and walked around his desk. He grabbed Sirius by the chin and smirked. “Your mother was wrong about you. You are worthy. You’ve just offered me more than everyone else who serves me ever has. I won’t forget that, Heir Potter. I accept your terms.”

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek as magic bound the agreement between them.

If Dumbledore wanted someone to fall on the sword of defeating the Dark Lord, no Potter or Longbottom would be his sacrifice.

“Go home to your wife, before she fears the worst.”

Sirius Disapparated.

He intended for them to stay safe, at Potter Manor, and let the Dark Lord finish his takeover. It might be callous, but he didn’t care if they all died in the fight. All he needed was his family’s safety, love, and acceptance.

“Sirius, something’s happened.”

“What is it? What happened?” Sirius demanded, frantic. He hadn’t expected Frank Longbottom to still be at Potter Manor after Dumbledore left. He had been sure Frank and Alice would be making plans of their own to protect their future son.

“Jamie went into labor as soon as you left.”

Sirius staggered back against the wall. “No! It’s too soon. She’s got another month and a half left.”

“Alice helped Lady Potter get her to the ward stone room, but couldn’t go inside. They’re … I heard Alice whisper it was the only chance Jamie and the baby might both survive. I’m so sorry.”

Sirius sobbed. If Dumbledore’s visit and subsequent revelation cost Sirius his wife or child, Sirius would kill Dumbledore _himself_.

He sprinted through the hallways, choking on desperate prayers, and almost collapsed to the floor at the look on Alice’s face as she stood outside the ward stone chamber.

“Jamie—”

“They’re okay. They both made it,” Alice said, cheeks stained with tears.

“Thank Merlin.”

Sirius hurried into the ward stone chamber, anxious to see his wife and newborn child, offering an absent smile to Dorea as she left to give them privacy. 

“You’re safe. You’re both safe. I parleyed with the Dark Lord. He can’t hurt us — he can’t hurt any of us,” Sirius explained, wanting her to know why he had Apparated away without stopping to explain where he was going; sometimes, his Gryffindor brashness got the best of him. He needed Jamie to know he hadn’t abandoned her to childbirth alone for a frivolous reason. 

But the loving smile on Jamie’s face and the light in her eyes when she spotted Sirius made the worries vanish. 

“I know. I felt it. Even through labor I felt the binding. _Thank you_.”

He perched on the edge of the bed a house-elf must have relocated to the ward stone chamber and reached forward with a shaking hand to stroke downy coal hair.

“Beautiful. Just like you,” Sirius whispered before kissing Jamie’s lips. It was sweet, tender, and full of all the emotions and words he couldn’t express. 

“A boy, just like we thought.” Jamie leaned back against the pillows and stared down at her son in awe. “What should we call him?”

They hadn’t discussed names at all, because they were both terrified of what could’ve happened. War didn’t offer any certainties. So many things could have gone horrifically wrong. They hadn’t wanted to name the child in fear that they would become even more attached, and thus, more devastated.

“Harry.” 

Sirius’s voice rasped as he spoke. This little one, their son, was a blessing. And Sirius would do — had done — the unthinkable in order to keep him safe.

“How about Harry James Potter?”

Jamie ran a hand down her sleeping son’s face as tears dripped down her cheeks. “It’s perfect.”

Sirius wiped the tears off Jamie’s face and kissed her tenderly, before pressing a kiss to his son’s cheek. “Yes, he is.”


	48. ABO Pet Me AU: James Potter/Regulus Black

Regulus Black dropped his fork when the Floo flared to life. It’s not even close to acceptable visiting hours, and everyone who should be at the table was currently at the table — from Sirius at its head: Lord of the Family by virtue of being the eldest Alpha, to their _mother,_ unwelcome as she might be.

Sirius looked just as stunned as Regulus felt when James Potter exited the Floo.

James’s scent was noticeably distressed and — there’s something different about it, but Regulus couldn’t quite figure out what.

“What happened?” Sirius asked his best mate, already half-risen from his chair.

James walked right past Sirius, as if he was invisible, and rounded the table. The spike of hurt-confusion in Sirius’s scent burned Regulus’s nostrils. He imagined his own scent was just as stunned. Because James and Sirius had been nearly inseparable since they were pups. Sirius had argued the Sorting Hat into placing him in Gryffindor — where Potters always Sorted — just so he could keep his Omega best mate safe.

With a flick of James’s wand, a thick, ornate pillow appeared on the floor next to Regulus’s chair. Regulus sucked in a deep breath when James knelt beside him — for him — and then leaned his head against Regulus’s thigh, nuzzling it.

“Pet me,” James demanded.

Hands shaking, Regulus obeyed the command. He stroked James’s wild ebony hair. He wanted so badly to brush his fingers across the bare skin of James’s neck, but he managed to resist. Only just.

“What’s wrong, High Omega Potter?” Regulus asked.

It had to be something fairly serious. James wasn’t one of those Omegas who begged for coddling and petting at the slightest hint of upset. He was strong and powerful and brave and — well, Regulus was more than a little interested in Mating him.

“The Quidditch jersey I stole from the Slytherin locker room lost its scent. Lagnok washed it before I remembered to order him not to do so. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” 

Regulus’s hand stilled as he processed the words in shock. He only started again when James huffed in annoyance. He buried his fingers in James’s hair and scratched his scalp lightly, pleased to hear James’s Omega purr against his thigh.

“It’s annoyingly hard to sleep without something that smells like you draped over my pillow, Alpha.”

A growl rumbled from Regulus’s throat as he imagined his scent rubbed all over James’s nest. Had James used the jersey as a pillowcase so he could bury his face in Regulus’s scent?

Without conscious thought, Regulus trailed his fingers down along James’s bare throat, encircling it with his fingers in an imitation of a bonding collar.

“Hands where I can see them!” Sirius ordered as he retook his seat.

Regulus huffed and threaded his fingers back into James’s hair. It was so soft. He made sure to rub his inner wrist into James’s hair, so he could scent it with the glands there. It eased a tightness he hadn’t even realized was in his chest. 

“How long have you been stealing my things?” Regulus asked.

Because, now that he thought of it, James always smelled somewhat like Regulus; until now, he had assumed that was because of the time they spent together by association, both being important to Sirius. But, apparently, it was because James liked his scent and slept with it.

Sirius snorted. “Since he was seven.”

“You really didn’t notice?” James asked. “I smell like you all the time. Merlin, Malfoy hasn’t come nearer than five feet in years, even though everyone knows he wants me.”

“As if I’d ever let Malfoy get that close to you,” Sirius scoffed. “He should know better than to covet a Black’s Omega.”

“And is that what you are?” Regulus interjected.

If it had been any Omega but James, Regulus wouldn’t have required the verification. The kneeling would have been enough. But he wanted to hear the words from James’s mouth himself. He wanted the admission of submission. And he wanted it badly.

The Alpha in Regulus roared as James looked up at him, stretching the long line of his neck. Regulus desperately wanted to mark it, to sink his teeth in the tan stretch of skin and give James a Mating Bite.

“Are you a Black’s Omega? My Omega?”

Regulus ran his thumb down the golden length of James’s throat.

The mischievous grin that appeared on James’s face was one Regulus had seen countless times — right before the Marauders pulled a prank that caused glorious chaos at Hogwarts.

“Don’t be silly, Regulus. Of course, I’m not.”

James peered up at Regulus through his eyelashes and licked his lips. It was all-too-enticing, especially given the response Regulus just received. But then James’s grin transformed into a smug smirk.

“You’re a Potter’s Alpha.”

As Sirius roared with laughter, and their mother broke her silence to splutter indignantly, Regulus smirked right back down at James.

_He could live with that_.


	49. Soul-Mate Marks AU: Frank Longbottom/Alice Longbottom

_Alice Longbottom._

She smiles at her reflection in the mirror, focusing on the tiny Crest that rests beneath her right eye like a beauty mark. There was no hiding the identity of the wizard she was meant for once puberty arrived.

Alice still remembers walking down to the Gryffindor common room with a bright blush, because not even the strongest glamour charms can cover up a soul-mark. Still, most soul-marks aren’t as prominent as her own, and it was embarrassing to be so bare in such an intimate manner.

The common room had fallen silent at her entrance. But, as always, silence didn’t last long in Gryffindor. 

“It’s Longbottom!”

Frank Longbottom had looked as stunned that day as he had earlier today when they vowed their lives and souls together in a soul-bond.

She brushes her thumb across her bonding ring and grins at her lord-husband as he comes up behind her and cups her shoulders.

“I love you, darling,” Frank says, before kissing her neck and starting to unravel her hair from the crown-braid she wore to the ceremony.

Alice tilts her head and traps Frank’s hand between her cheek and shoulder, just long enough so she can kiss his fingers, which always treat her gently. 

“And I you.”


	50. Courtship Gift AU: Marcus Flint/Harry Potter

“Potter, wait up!”

Harry Potter only stops because the request is blunt and doesn’t contain his title. He’s so sick and tired of pureblood wizards fawning over him. Harry will never Court – let alone bond – someone who sees his title first. He deserves better than that.

He spins on his heel and feels one of his eyebrows wing up as Marcus Flint marches down Leisure Alley towards him.

“Yes?” Harry asks when Flint reaches him.

Flint pulls something out of the pocket of his green over-robe and slaps it against Harry’s chest. 

“Here.”

Bemused, Harry grabs the objects sliding down his chest, since Flint just let them go. His other eyebrow joins the first when he realizes what he’s holding: Top Box Quidditch Tickets to see Puddlemere United in –

_“Tempus!”_

Twenty minutes.

Well, perhaps not _everyone_ sees his title first, after all.

Harry steps closer to Flint and grabs a hold of his arm. He’s a year away from getting his Apparition License still, even though he knows how to Apparate already.

“If you Splinch me, I’ll castrate you,” Harry says.

Flint doesn’t even flinch. “I won’t.”

As Flint tugs Harry against his chest – even though it’s not technically necessary – Harry grins. Being protected, instead of the protector, for a change? It’s nice. He could get used to this. 


	51. Valentine's Day AU: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Harry Potter is so sick of today. He just wants it to end. _Desperately_.

He hadn’t thought that anything could be worse than Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts when Lockhart was a teacher in second year. 

This … this is so much worse.

Now that the war is over, and he’s not officially courting anyone, it seems like half the school is stalking him. And Harry knows they don’t mean to do it, that they’re not trying to be cruel, but it’s setting off his instincts. The war isn’t that far behind them, and he almost cursed a fifth-year Hufflepuff for sneaking up on him to offer him chocolates.

If he doesn’t find a solution to his problem soon, he’s going to accidentally send someone to the Hospital Wing – or maybe St. Mungo’s if someone triggers a flashback.

“Problem with your fans, Potter?” Draco Malfoy drawls.

_Oh. Oh, that would solve everything, wouldn’t it? _

Even post-war, everyone knows what happens when you touch something that belongs to a Malfoy.

Harry marches across the corridor, ignores the countless students, grabs Malfoy by his green and silver tie, and drags him down into a kiss.


	52. Sharing a Bed AU: Sirius Black/James Potter

There are four beds in the Gryffindor dorm room that the Marauders share. There have been four beds in it since they were first years, wide-eyed and awed by the castle.

Only three have ever been used.

The very first night, when their bonds were still shaky and feeling stretched, James Potter and Sirius Black crawled into the same bed and clung to each other, just to feel someone’s magic close and safe.

They never stopped.

All these years later, they still sleep in the same bed. Honestly, the worst part of returning to Grimmauld Place is sleeping without James’s warmth against his chest and James’s magic against his skin.

Sirius strokes James’s messy hair as James snuggles closer and sighs happily in his sleep.

If perfection is a thing that exists, it’s this moment.


	53. Soul-Mate Marks AU: Sirius Black/Lily Evans

Lily Evans is born with a birthmark that she doesn’t understand until she enters the wizarding world – until she learns about where she really belongs. Because the first lesson that Lily’s Sponsor taught her is the importance of soul-marks between Magicals.

Still, it takes Lily an embarrassingly long time to realize – one night during Astronomy Class – that the golden specks over her womb form the Canis Major constellation. And that Sirius is the biggest and brightest of all the aureate specks.

Unfortunately, flower names are very common in pureblood society. So it’s not peculiar for a wizard to think a specific witch is his soul-mate, even when she isn’t. Such is the case with James Potter.

“Please, Lily-Flower?” Potter asks, as he proffers a Potter Courtship Comb.

He’s never said anything before now, never even hinted that he might have a lily as his soul-mark, and Lily feels awful. Because she’s going to crush his heart – unintentionally – and then Court his best mate.

“I’m so sorry, Potter. I don’t have your soul-mark. I’m not _your_ Lily-Flower,” she says, as gently as she can.

She stares up over his shoulder at Sirius Black, who’s just stood up straight, looking both stunned, hopeful, and guilty. 

“I’m Sirius’s Lily-Flower.”


	54. Clothes Stealing AU: James Potter/Female Sirius Black

“Black! Black, wake up!”

Siriana Black rolls over in bed and groans. “Wuhizzit?”

“Potter needs his winter Quidditch jersey back. The team has practice this morning and it’s snowing. He’s at the door,” Lily Evans says.

“No.”

She stuffs her face back in her pillow and tries to fall back asleep. But Evans, the evil, evil witch, yanks open the bed-curtains; the sunlight hits Siriana right in the face. 

“Ihacchu.”

“I hate you, too, Black.”

Siriana is exhausted. She’s running on almost no sleep. She’d cast a Tempus Charm to verify exactly how much she got, but seeing the result will just make her cry, and crying gives her a headache. Her head already aches enough. Regulus has been sick all week, and she’s been regularly sneaking off to the Hospital Wing at night to keep him company.

She sways as she stands and almost trips herself with her own feet.

What had Evans been babbling about? Something something something Potter something something door. It must be important if Evans brought him up the staircase to the girls’ dorms.

“Black, wait!” Evans screeches as Siriana tries not to collapse on the floor as she opens the door to their dorm room.

James’s broom clatters to the floor and bounces down the spiral staircase. _“Merlin!”_ he breathes before flushing bright red.

That’s when Siriana remembers she took her hair down after getting back from the Hospital Wing, hoping it would help her headache go away. It wasn’t her feet that almost tripped her a moment before – it was _her hair._

Also, she went to sleep in James’s Quidditch jersey, and _only_ his Quidditch jersey. It’s falling off one shoulder and barely covers her bum.

If she were any less exhausted, Siriana would be blushing with mortification. Instead, she mutters, “I swear I didn’t do this on purpose. I had a plan to wrap you around my finger that didn’t include compromising your honor. I swear, James.”

James leans down, so that his forehead is touching hers, rubs his nose against hers, and says, “I believe you.”


	55. Growing Up AU: James Potter/Lily Evans

Lily Evans is just about to round the corner to the library when she hears James Potter say, very emphatically, _“Don’t.”_

Wanting to know what is going on and if she will have to intervene, but also wanting to stay out of Potter’s drama as much as she possibly can, Lily peeks around the corner instead of walking around it.

She blinks twice to make sure that she’s actually seeing what she’s seeing.

“But James–” Peter Pettigrew whines.

Potter doesn’t let go of the end of Pettigrew’s wand, which is pointed down the corridor at the backs of several younger-year Slytherins.

“Don’t,” Potter repeats, face stern. “Don’t hex them. Don’t be the kind of wizard that attacks people who should be safe.”

Stunned, Lily leans back against the wall and wonders when Potter changed from a boy who would hex any Slytherin for _existing_ into a man who protected Slytherins from his own best friends.

Maybe … maybe next time Potter asks her out, she’ll give him a chance.


	56. Comfort AU: Bellatrix Black/Lily Evans

Bellatrix Black stands at the edge of Hogwarts’ wards, a letter crumpled in her fist. It’s nearly pitch-black. The moon is new. She can’t see more than a few feet in any direction.

But nothing will keep her away.

Not with teardrop stains on the letter from her beloved.

She wishes she could charge into the castle and punch James Potter in the face. However, the wards the Ministry strengthened around Hogwarts with the war on the rise – which she had been grateful for when she found out about them – now keep her from entering, as she’s not a student, professor, or Ministry Official with a keyed wand.

Lily Evans appears at the edge of the light cast by the fairy-globes Bellatrix created, and throws herself into Bellatrix’s arms.

“Bella!” 

Bellatrix hugs Lily fiercely. She could try rationale, could explain that due to the Potter family magic, James Potter _literally_ can’t touch Lily romantically without her permission. However, Bellatrix is smart enough to know that fears and worries are rarely rational.

So she kisses Lily’s hair and promises, “You don’t have to worry, Lily. I’ll never let him touch you.”


	57. Hogsmeade Escort AU: James Potter/Lily Evans

James Potter stared intently at Lily Evans’ mouth, positive that he’d just heard her incorrectly. She hadn’t actually _agreed_ to let him escort her to Hogsmeade this weekend, had she?

“What?”

Lily’s lips curled up in a smile that could certainly be called a smirk for the amount of smugness it conveyed. “Kneazle got your tongue, Potter?” she teased.

“Did you really–?”

She tucked a strand of hair that was coming loose back into her crown-braid. “You aren’t imagining it, Potter. I said yes.” 

James blinked rapidly as he tried to process the words. Was … was this real? Had she actually agreed to give him a chance? Could he win her heart in reality and not just in his dreams? 

“So this weekend …”

Lily burst into laughter. “Potter, is it really that hard to believe?”

James blushed and glanced at the floor. He subtly pinched himself; it hurt. Dreams didn’t usually hurt. “You’ve been telling me ‘no’ for years.” 

“Well, this time I’m saying yes, _James_.”

James yelled in triumph and promised, “You won’t regret it.”


	58. The Twins AU: Female Fred Weasley/Harry Potter/Female George Weasley

Harry Potter tried not to hyperventilate as he paced in the hallway outside his bedchamber. His wives, Georgina and Fredericka were both in labor. And they were each carrying a set of identical twins.

In one year after Voldemort’s defeat, Harry had gone from being the last Potter alive to very-soon-being the Paterfamilias of seven (himself included).

It was overwhelming in the best way.

Mother Magic had blessed him a thousand times over since he fulfilled the prophecy. It … it almost made up for everything that he had lost and sacrificed along the way.

Heracles appeared beside him, the Personification of the Potter family magic, and smirked. “Four at once, huh? Not even your father was that much of an overachiever.”

Harry flushed and grumbled, “Shut up. You’re supposed to be happy for me.”

“I am, Little Lord. Congratulations on the babies. I’ve already decided what I’ll name them,” Heracles said with a grin.

“No! Absolutely not!” Harry said. 

“I revoked your child-naming rights as soon as you thought ‘Albus Severus,’ Little Lord. You can explain to your lady-wives why none of you get to name your children,” Heracles said, booming with laughter, before vanishing.

Harry collapsed in the chair, which he hadn’t used since the team of Healers arrived at the Manor, and put his head in his hands. “Oh, bugger.”


	59. Favorite Weasley AU: Harry Potter/Female Percy Weasley

The Weasleys were Harry Potter’s true family in every way that mattered to him. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were the parents he never had; they let him spend the holidays at their house and didn’t make him do chores. The Burrow was better than any castle in all the fairy tales he’d heard his aunt reading to Dudley as a child.

Ron Weasley was the brother that Harry had always wanted. Still, Ron patiently explained the differences between how he’d been raised and the wizarding world. Ron was his first friend ever, and that distinction came with a lot of responsibility; Ron bore it admirably most of the time.

But his favorite Weasley was the one, ironically, who was the least favorite of the other Weasleys.

Persia Weasley was perfect.

When Harry had trouble with homework, he asked Persia for help. When Harry needed to hide away from everything for a while, he sat next to Persia in the common room; no one would bother him there. And, when he started having nightmares of his mother’s death after being exposed to a Dementor, Persia held him close and petted his hair until he fell asleep.

The moment Harry realized what he felt for Persia Weasley, he started to panic. What if he fell in love with a beautiful redhead, only to lose her as he had lost his mother?

So when Harry went to Hogwarts for his fourth year, he tried to convince himself that he was happy Persia wouldn’t be there that year. It didn’t work. Within a week, Harry started owling Persia, talking about everything and nothing; he just needed to know that Persia still cared.

She did.

Fourth year. Fifth year. Sixth year. 

Persia never failed to answer his owls. 

And then, finally, Harry was a seventh-year student. The Triwizard Tournament was reinstated; to his delight, he was chosen over Draco Malfoy as Hogwarts Champion.

In the blink of an eye, it was time for the Yule Ball, and Persia was there. 

Harry knew he smiled like an idiot all through dinner, because he got to sit next to his Persia. Because Persia was his. 

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Persia.”

That night, after slipping outside, Harry kissed Persia. 

The shocked look on Persia’s face was replaced by exhilaration and joy. “Me?”

The word wasn’t confident, as most words coming from Persia’s lips were. It was trembling, as if Persia believed everything the twins said about her and had taken it all to heart.

Harry nodded his head and whispered, “You.” 

The smile he received in response was blinding.

In the weeks following the initiation of their relationship, Persia sent him small tokens of affection: a lily, a book on the Potter family, and other things that had clearly been chosen very carefully.

Persia was Courting him, instead of the other way around.

He smiled like a fool when he realized that. 

In return, Harry read up on traditions and Courting so that he wouldn’t make a mistake and ruin anything—as the Dursleys claimed he constantly did. The part that delighted him most, but also made total sense, was that Persia was required to take Harry’s last name when they bonded. 

Persia Potter.

It had a lovely ring to it.


	60. Matchmaker AU: Harry Potter/Bellatrix Black

Harry Potter grimaces as he opens the door to The Red String. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, exactly — there’s nothing shameful about going to see a Malfoy Matchmaker. It’s just that he’s not holding out any hope. 

His magic is extremely powerful. On top of that, it’s about as Dark of a Magical Affinity as you can have without tipping over into Black Magic. When a Light witch’s magic comes into contact with him, it physically hurts. And the Dark witches that are available all seem to be closer to Light, even though they are Dark; they come off as weak to his magic.

“Worst case, she sends me away,” Harry whispers as he steps in the front office.

The Red String is the Magical Matchmaker business that Amalia Malfoy started in Leisure Alley when she came of age. She has helped arrange hundreds of bondings in the decades since. As a Matchmaker, Amalia has the ability to see the magical compatibility between magical people, following the threads and gauging their strength.

If anyone can possibly follow his magic to a potential spouse, it will be Lady Amalia.

That knowledge does nothing to soothe the sting of knowing he’s the first Potter in centuries who didn’t fall in love at Hogwarts. It was practically a family tradition — he’s unwittingly broken it.

“Right this way, Master Potter. Lady Amalia is waiting for you,” the receptionist — she looks like an Urquhart — says, gesturing to the open door down the hall.

“Thank you.”

Harry uncurls his fists, wipes his sweaty hands on his robes, and enters the room.

He only takes a single step before coming to a screeching halt; his gaze snaps to the left so fast his eyes actually hurt. 

Seated in a chair next to Lady Amalia is a witch that Harry has never seen in person, though the riotous black curls and heavy-lidded gray eyes give away her identity in an instant — Bellatrix Black, his godfather’s favorite cousin, who has been serving as a Hit Witch for the International Confederation of Wizards for over ten years now.

“Ah,” Amalia says, a pleased look on her face, “I do believe this is the fastest I’ve ever managed to Match anyone, and it wasn’t even on purpose.”

Bellatrix’s magic is deliciously Dark. It’s fierce and primal and possessive and Harry imagines this is what it’s like to stand in the presence of a Dark Lady. He’s heard people whisper that about his own magic — Dark Lord — but he’s never before experienced the phenomenon in someone else.

“I” — Bellatrix says, as she sets down a teacup with a frown — “have waited an annoyingly long time for you.”

Harry winces, because his school years and the few following it have seemed like ages — his magic reaching out, finding nothing, flinching back. The sheer loneliness is aggravating and, occasionally, torturous. 

Bellatrix was born nearly three decades before him. Her loneliness must have been ever so much worse. For a witch of her power … with magic so deliciously Dark, to be alone in magic? How she must have longed for children and companionship; she could have been driven mad with the longing.

To live so many years with an intact Black-blood heart … Harry doesn’t need to know anything else about her. That alone tells him everything that matters.

Bellatrix must agree, because she stands from her seat and saunters over to him, her hips rolling seductively. Harry doesn’t think she’s doing it on purpose; that’s just how she walks — like a predator stalking prey.

When she reaches him, Bellatrix walks her fingers up his chest and says, “I hope you weren’t planning to go home a virgin.”

Harry feels his face catch fire, even as the implied commitment of her statement steals the breath from his lungs.

“Because I’ve been one more than long enough,” Bellatrix purrs. “And I want to brag to Cissy in the morning that my lord-husband is younger and fitter and has more stamina than hers.”

Merlin, Harry realizes with a smirk that could scare children, I’m going to be Malfoy’s Uncle.

He chuckles and says, “It’s a Potter’s duty to help a lady in need. Never let it be said that I shamed my ancestors.”

He doesn’t.


	61. Bonding Contract AU: Charlie Weasley/Female Harry Potter

As Harriet Potter walked out of the stadium that she had just fought a dragon in — curse whomever had entered her in the Triwizard Tournament; she had been looking forward to a calm sixth year, after all the drama of killing Voldemort — she only had one thought in her head. 

Charlie Prewett had saved her life.

She had met the second oldest Weasley son over the summer. At first glance, Harriet had known that Charlie was different from the rest of the Weasleys. He was wilder, he didn’t talk much, and his eyes possessed that same knowing glint that Dumbledore’s did.

The Prewett family magic was strong in him.

One afternoon, in Harriet’s first week there, Charlie had pulled her aside and quietly informed her of the best ways one could go about defeating a dragon. If Fred or George had brought up the topic, she would’ve rolled her eyes and walked away. But there was a serious gleam to his eyes that she couldn’t look away from. 

So Harriet listened intently, silently, and then thanked Charlie before heading out for a backyard Quidditch match.

Now, as she bypassed the tent for those who were stupid enough to get injured, Harriet grinned. 

Sirius had sent her important information about the Potter family over the summer, so that Harriet would be able to properly manage her inheritance when the time came. Imagine her surprise when a trip to Gringotts revealed an old bonding contract between the Potters and Prewetts, to be fulfilled whenever the current Potter Lord or Lady chose. 

It had shocked her, because the Potters rarely had arranged bondings. 

But Charlie … he might possibly have saved Harriet’s life with his advice, and she wasn’t blind to the looks Charlie sent her when he thought she was distracted.

She had ogled him more than once. It was only fair.

Harriet slipped around the arena and stopped beside the dragon-handlers’ tent. Before she could poke her head inside, Charlie stepped out of the tent and pulled Harriet into his arms. 

“Brilliant job, Heiress Potter. Well done!” 

Strong hands ran down her back and Harriet sighed in pleasure, before removing the contract from her pocket and Enlarging it. Her hands shook as she offered it to Charlie. As soon as those rough, freckled hands closed around it, she turned her gaze down to the grass. 

What if Charlie—?

Charlie’s lips brushed hers. Harriet closed her eyes and leaned into him. Well, that answered that question.

“Yes,” Charlie whispered after pulling back. 

He nipped Harriet’s lower lip and clutched her hips possessively. 

“_Merlin, yes._” 

He Conjured a quill, turned Harriet around, and then signed the contract on her back. 

Harriet felt the magic of the contract seal them together, and then heard it vanish to be filed at the Ministry automatically. She leaned back against Charlie’s chest as her fiancé rained kisses all along her neck. 

For the first time that she could remember—with his muscled arms surrounding her—Harriet felt completely happy.


	62. Courtship Athame AU: Lucius Malfoy/Regulus Black

Regulus Black doesn’t even look up from his book as Rabastan Lestrange kneels before the chair he’s sitting on inside the Slytherin common room.

“No.”

There’s a collective gasp of surprise from the other Slytherins, though Regulus isn’t sure why. He’s refused every offer made in this manner; if they’re too stupid to figure out why, that isn’t his problem.

“I beg you to recons—”

Regulus turns the page of his Potions text and frowns. “No.”

He’s not going to reconsider — not for the offer of a courting athame presented on a pillow while kneeling. He won’t ever accept one. It doesn’t matter who offers it. He’s not interested in that type of relationship and no wizard on the planet could make him change his mind.

The entrance to the common room opens, but Regulus doesn’t glance up to see who it is. He doesn’t have to, because Lucius Malfoy’s name spreads across the room as people welcome him back. 

“Lucius! So good to see you!”

“Heir Malfoy, welcome back!”

It’s not as if he really went anywhere. Lucius Apprenticed under the Ancient Runes professor upon graduation a few years back, and is scheduled to take his Mastery Exam soon; if he passes — there’s no doubt he will — then Lucius will be the youngest Runes Master alive.

“You can’t be serious, Lestrange,” Lucius drawls.

Regulus peeks over the top of his textbook to see that Rabastan is flushing an unappealing shade of red.

“Piss off, Malfoy! Like you’d have a chance? Black refuses everyone!”

“Not everyone,” Lucius says.

Regulus tilts his head to the side just in time to avoid the athame Lucius throws at him from across the room; it’s embedded in the back of the armchair now — only the jeweled hilt sticks out. Onyxes and silver.

The silence that pervades the common room is intense.

Ah, so Lucius Malfoy had noticed what the entire rest of Slytherin had missed — Regulus’s asexuality — had he?

Regulus sets his textbook in his lap, withdraws the athame from the armchair, and slices his thumb open as he runs it along the blade.

“I accept.”


	63. The Severance AU: James Potter/Female Sirius Black

James Potter wakes up out of a dead sleep to a wild surge of magic. His heart races, his chest hurts from how hard he’s breathing, and sweat soaks through his pajamas leaving him cold and clammy.

What had—?

“Mordred!” James gasps as he realizes what happened.

_Mother Magic just Gifted him with the Right to Siriana Black’s hair_. 

“Not good!” James says as he throws the covers back and races toward his wardrobe.

Either Siriana’s entire immediate family was just murdered, or — Mordred, he doesn’t even want to imagine it. Surely, _surely_ Walburga Black isn’t _that_ insane? She couldn’t possibly have …? No, surely not.

He changes faster than he has ever changed in his entire life.

Then, following the tug of magic on his core, the thread that tells him exactly where Siriana is, James blindly Apparates. He doesn’t care that it’s illegal. If the Ministry has a problem with it, they can take it up with the family solicitors. A fine of any amount of money will never keep him from Siriana’s side when she needs him.

He rips through the wards with brute strength of magic and appears inside of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place less than a minute after the surge of magic startled him awake. 

James almost loses control of his magic and explodes the entire house at what he sees.

There’s the smell of fire and smoke, from where Siriana is now burned off the Black family tapestry. Siriana is sprawled on the floor, a massive bruise forming on her face, and there are strands of ebony silk all over the floor, each without the luster of magic. Siriana’s nearly bald in places and the rest of her hair is stubble-shorn.

Tears stream down her face as she clutches at her head, sobbing desperately.

“Father called the Aurors,” Regulus Black snarls, from where he’s holding his own mother at wand-point. His eyes are so full of hatred that it’s a miracle Fiendfyre hasn’t spilled from them to devour the house.

James nearly bites through his tongue. He … he has a decision to make. 

“J-James, sh-she …” is all Siriana gets out before she’s choking on her tears and wailing as if she’s had a limb amputated.

And that — Siriana begging brokenly at his feet — is what makes his mind up for him. 

Because as much as James has never wanted to acknowledge the legacy bestowed upon him — the power that comes with it is too great, too tempting, too easily leads to corruption — Azkaban is too good for Walburga Black. The Dementor’s Kiss is too good for Walburga Black. _Tartarus_ is too good for Walburga Black.

“_High Lord Ignotus Peverell_,” James Potter states. The words fall from his lips like thunder.

A bolt of black lightning scorches the carpet. From the smoke that rises steps a wraith that drips onyx flames.

“You summoned me,” says the wizard who took off the Cloak of Invisibility and greeted Death as an old friend before departing life as Death’s equal.

James’s voice booms; the house rattles as he speaks. “I curse Walburga Black to undying torment.”

Black flames crawl up Walburga’s body. She screams and screams and screams, but James is indifferent to her pleas.

“No! No! Please, no!”

“Your will be done, High Lord James Peverell,” Ignotus rasps, before disappearing in a flash of black lightning with his victim.

James kneels and takes Siriana in his arms. She’s sobbing and shaking so hard that he almost drops her twice as he regains his feet. If it wouldn’t be an additional violation after what she’s already suffered, he would force her to sleep.

“What’s going on here?”

“What happened?” Aurors demand as they pour into the room.

“Regulus!” James orders with a single word. 

He will not leave Siriana’s beloved baby brother in this evil place. The dead magic of her severed hair is already tainting the wards.

“Just a minute, Heir Potter, we nee—”

“High Lord Peverell,” James corrects, before Disapparating the three of them to Potter Manor in a flash of black lightning.

He sets Siriana in his bed and isn’t the least bit surprised when Regulus curls against her possessively, grey eyes narrow. 

“I’m not leaving her.”

James slides in the bed beside Siriana and wraps her tightly in his arms as she sobs against his chest. Each tear feels like a Cutting Curse to his heart.

“I’d never respect you again if you did,” James replies.

“Mo” — Regulus growls like a feral Crup before correcting himself — “Walburga stripped her name before —”

James locks down his magic so he won’t reduce Potter Manor to ashes in his rage. He inhales shakily once. Twice. Thrice.

Then James speaks, his voice ringing with thunder and power, a vow and statement all in one, “From this day forth, you shall be known as High Lady Siriana Peverell.”

He kisses Siriana’s brow and breathes a sigh of relief as she manages to stutter out, “Th-thank y-you, J-James. Thank y-you!”

James squeezes his eyes shut. This — this isn’t how he wanted to win her. But now that Siriana is his, he’s _never_ letting go.


	64. Soul-Mate Names AU: Bellatrix Black/Luna Lovegood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a birthday vignette for Elenscaie. I'm posting it early ... I think.

When Luna Lovegood turns seventeen and comes of age, she gets her soul-mate name on her wand arm.

_ Bellatrix Black_.

The witch who regularly tortured her in Malfoy Manor during the last year of the war against Voldemort was her soul-mate.

_ Her dead soul-mate_.

Molly Weasley had killed her soul-mate in the Final Battle at Hogwarts. No, that wasn’t true. Mrs. Weasley had killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Luna’s soul-mate was lost long before that — long, long before.

The older person in a soul-mate pair doesn’t receive the soul-mark name until the youngest comes of age. How long had the Blacks been willing to wait before selling Bellatrix to the Lestranges? According to the Black family tree in the genealogical archives, not long at all.

Luna has always accepted her lot in life. She’s rarely — if ever — wanted to change the world.

This — _ this _ she wants to change.

So, Luna goes to Harry Potter. Because no matter how many times she sees his photo in _ the Daily Prophet _, he never looks happy. He’s as unsatisfied as she is with the outcome. And he has as much respect for what ought to be done as she does — none.

He will help her. She knows it.

She’s right.

When Luna knocks on the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place and says, “I need you to help me break into the Department of Mysteries so I can travel back in time and change what happened,” Harry’s immediate response is to ask her, “When?”

“Now.”

They go.

It’s a tight fit to get them both underneath Harry’s — Death’s — Cloak of Invisibility. But they manage. And just like before, when they were trying to save Sirius Black, they make it all the way down to the Time Room.

“Did you want to come?” Luna asks, already knowing his answer; Harry is tired and worn-thin.

“No, I trust you to fix it,” Harry says.

Luna smiles at him, a boy she barely spent any time with, who is still her best friend. “I’ll make sure it’s like waking up in paradise for you, though you won’t know the difference.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, voice raspy and eyes wet.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

Luna casts a cutting curse at the crystal bell jar that illuminates the room. She steps inside, ignoring the falling glass, and waves goodbye as it twirls her through time, year by year and decade by decade.

She reappears in Stonehenge, as expected, and glances at the setting sun. One night to destroy the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort before she has more important places to be. She can do it.

She does.

When the sun rises, Luna’s sitting outside a cafe in Leisure Alley, eating breakfast. She’s of age and in the past. It shouldn’t take Bellatrix long to — 

There’s a sharp crack of Apparition.

Bellatrix stands right next to the cafe table, eyes wide and hunger-crazed, staring at Luna with avarice and amazement. Her voice is a seductive purr as she asks, “Luna Lovegood?”

Luna slides up her sleeve and bares her wand arm.

_ Bellatrix Black_.

And the future is rewritten.


	65. Tea Shop AU: Draco Malfoy/Female Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a birthday vignette when I was still doing Tumblr. I'm drawing a blank on who it was for. My apologies.

The first place Harriet Potter went, upon her return to England, was her favorite tea shop in Leisure Alley. For all that she had enjoyed the European Tour she, Daphne Greengrass, and Hermione Granger took upon their graduation from Hogwarts, she was happy to be home again.

No matter where they went, the tea was awful.

The bell over the door jingled as Harriet walked into Your Greyce.

“Welcome to Your Greyce! Thank you for your patronage, Heiress Potter. I can show you to your seat. Please follow me,” a witch said, curtsying.

Harriet didn’t know the witch’s name, but she had the red hair of a Prewett; it was likely one of Ginny Weasley’s many, many cousins. Harriet had never tried to keep them all straight. Morgana, she had even heard Ginny mixing their names up several times.

“Thank you.”

The witch showed Harriet to a table near the large front window that looked out upon Leisure Alley. It was a table for two. The furniture, as was true of all the decorations in Your Greyce, was medieval. 

Sitting in the chair that put her back to the wall — her father was paranoid about her safety and had taught her to always be aware of everything in a room — Harriet smiled. It was nice to be back. She had missed England more than she had expected.

“What would you like, Heiress Potter?”

“I’ll have a pot of Earl Grey and whatever biscuits are the freshest,” Harriet said.

“I’ll be right back with that for you!”

Harriet stared out the window, watching shoppers pass by. Lady Selwyn was herding her youngest daughter — a total hellion that one — into the Scarlet Cloak. Lycoris Black was leaving the Mythical Menagerie with a ginger Kneazle kitten in her arms. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle appeared to be heading to Dionysus; was it already time to replenish the family wine cellars?

The door opened and the bell jangled.

“I’ll be with you in —” 

Whomever it was didn’t seem content to wait. Because footsteps headed right for her. Morgana, was it too much to ask for a little bit of time alone? She didn’t look up from her people-watching until someone stopped beside her.

“Is this seat taken?”

Harriet rolled her gaze to the left, recognizing the voice in an instant. He must have come down the Alley from the opposite direction, because he hadn’t passed the window in front of her.

Draco Malfoy was as attractive as ever. The prat. He was even taller now than the last time she had seen him. And his fair hair reached almost all the way to his shoulders. 

“Yes, it is,” Harriet said before sticking her feet on the opposite chair.

She wasn’t one of the many witches who were foolish enough to set her cap on Draco Malfoy. He could have his pick of the pureblood witches — foreign and domestic — and she didn’t for a second think he would pick her. She wasn’t dainty and sweet and poised.

Harriet was her father’s daughter: sassy, mischievous, and very outspoken.

Draco, the infuriating bastard, smirked at her and said, “Your feet look cold.”

Before Harriet could respond, he carefully lifted her legs by her ankles, sat in the chair, and then put her feet down in his lap. Draco rubbed the bare skin of her right ankle.

The witch returned to the table, then, with a tray in her hands. She looked stunned, but kept her gaze off Draco’s lap as she said, “My apologies. I didn’t realize Heir Malfoy was joining you, Heiress Potter. I’ll Summon a second teacup.”

“He’s not joining me!” Harriet said.

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you,” Draco replied at the same time.

“Um . . . I —”

Harriet sighed. She wasn’t one of those twats who made things worse for people in customer service jobs; it was beyond the pale to be rude to them or make their days worse. 

“It seems Malfoy is joining me for tea. Please do Summon that extra cup,” Harriet said, hating how Draco’s smirk grew at her concession.

“Oh, okay. Please let me know if you require anything else,” the witch said with a smile, set the tray down, Summoned a cup for Draco, curtsied to them, and went away.

“I have tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. They’re in the Top Box; after the game, there’s a meet-and-greet with the players,” Draco said.

Harriet furrowed her brow. Had Draco seriously come in here, manhandled her, and intruded on her afternoon just to brag like he was still thirteen?

“So do I. Well, I will. Dad says he’s going to get them this weekend,” Harriet replied. He couldn’t brag about something she also had; it would make him look like an arrogant fool.

Draco’s entire face fell, and he stopped rubbing her ankle. 

“Oh. Right. Of course —”

“Wait,” Harriet interrupted, unable to believe what she was seeing. 

Draco looked crushed and his shoulders had inched up like they did when he was mortified. His hand shook so lightly against her ankles that she almost couldn’t feel it.

“Was that . . . were you asking me to accompany you?” Harriet asked.

He turned sharply to face the window, a tic in his jaw. “You’re otherwise engaged for —”

Harriet reached across the table and grabbed his free hand. “Malfoy, were you trying to ask me on a Courtship Date? Did you use your father’s influence at the Ministry to get tickets to the Top Box at the Quidditch World Cup for a first Courtship Date with me?”

“Yes,” Draco bit out, “I did. What else am I supposed to do? Nothing impresses you. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep your attention. But you love Quidditch — everyone knows that — and I thought —”

Draco grimaced and stared at her hand on his.

“Merlin, I don’t have a chance in hell. Do I?”

Harriet sat back in her chair, astonished. Seriously? All this time, he was trying to get her attention? He wasn’t just being a prat for the sake of being a prat? He was — what did her mum call it again? — pulling her pigtails? (The Muggle analogy had never made much sense to her; did they really wear their hair almost entirely down and let men touch it?) 

It felt like her entire world-view of him had fallen on its side.

“One date.”

Draco’s gaze snapped to her. “What?”

“I accept your invitation to the Quidditch World Cup, Malfoy. Don’t mess it up. You get one Courtship Date to prove you’re not an inconsiderate git and that I should learn to tolerate you long-term.”

The smile on his face transformed him from attractive to irritatingly handsome.

Draco’s voice was as cocky as ever as he said, “I won’t mess it up. You’ll be so impressed that you’ll decide to tolerate me forever.”

Harriet poured herself a cup of Earl Grey tea and smiled at him over the rim. “You wish.”


	66. Death Eater Spy AU: Marcus Flint/Female Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a belated birthday vignette from when I still had Tumblr. Again, I'm drawing a blank on the recipient's pen name.

Is this the smartest plan Harriet Potter has ever had or the stupidest?

She still isn’t sure, but it’s the best idea she’s got. If she wants this war to end any time soon, she’s got to change how it’s going; the Light Side is getting pummeled. If she can turn a Death Eater into a spy, a Death Eater who’s beyond reproach, they’ll be able to win the war so much more quickly.

If only Severus Snape hadn’t died. . . .

She remembers how Marcus Flint looked at her when he was still a student at Hogwarts. He fairly claimed her with his eyes alone. And while Flint’s vicious, he also loves to win. That’s something Harriet noticed during the first time she faced Slytherin on the Quidditch Pitch.

“What do you want, Heiress Potter?” Flint asks, wand at Harriet’s throat.

He came. He actually came. 

Grasping at the threads of the desperate plan, Harriet says, “I want you to turn on Voldemort and spy for me.”

Flint laughs, voice deep and thick, and it sends tremors down Harriet’s spine. The laughter halts in mid-bellow, as quickly as it had begun. 

“And why would I do that?”

Harriet meets his eyes, locks their gazes, so that Flint will know she’s telling the truth. Her only chance for this to work is if Flint believes her. She’s asking him to betray his Dark Lord. It’s got to be the best reason he’s ever heard.

“Because I’m going to win. There’s a prophecy; Voldemort’s days are numbered.” 

“What do I get out of this?” Flint demands, eyes narrow, but he looks interested.

“Amnesty.”

“You can’t offer that,” Flint sneers.

Harriet leans forward until her nose brushes Flint’s, even though it pushes the wand into her throat and hurts. This is her frantic gambit; he will either accept it or . . . not. 

If Flint refuses, the plan won’t work at all. He will surely report her offer to Voldemort, causing the Death Eaters to be checked even more diligently for traitors than they already are.

“No one’s going to send my lord-husband to Azkaban. Especially not when I tell the Wizengamot that your actions were all a ploy to destroy Voldemort — that having someone on the inside was the only way to bring him down for good.”

Flint licks his lips and runs his wand down Harriet’s neck before putting it back in its holster. 

“So that’s what the full prophecy says? All right, I’m in. You know how much I hate to lose,  _ love _ ,” Flint says.

Flint pulls her close by her hips and kisses her hungrily. His hands don’t wander and he’s surprisingly gentle with her. It’s not what she expected from a wizard as rough as he presents himself. Flint kisses her as if he never wants to stop. Harriet lets him. 

Because Harriet knows — s _ he knows, she knows, she knows  _ — she’s won. 

And she can live with the price of victory.


	67. Blood Line Traits AU: Harry Potter/Female Blaise Zabini

Blaise Zabini had never been one for standing in the spotlight. She’d never commanded the attention of the Slytherins, or anyone really, because she disdained such things. In fact, she firmly believed that only true fools sought attention. Only an idiot would make himself or herself easier to see, to find, to observe, to attack.

So while the other Slytherins pranced around like popinjays and gloated about their parents and wealth, she sat in the shadows learning more than they would ever notice. Filing away every single secret that the fools gave away, knowingly or not.

Blaise knew that Daphne Greengrass was being pressured into an arranged marriage with an older man, Tracey Davis was in love with a Mudblood, that Pansy actually believed she’d be the next Lady Malfoy and Millicent Bulstrode was addicted to the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

She knew that Draco Malfoy already had the Dark Mark, Crabbe and Goyle secretly hated Draco, and Theodore Nott was the most dangerous person in the school.

And those were just the basic secrets of the students in the same year as her in her house. If she truly wanted to, Blaise Zabini had enough information to blackmail almost everyone in Hogwarts.

Because of all she knew, not much interested her. Though, there was one exception—Harry Potter.

If asked—Blaise would kill anyone asking—she’d admit (if only to herself) that she was obsessed with Harry Potter. At one glance, Harry seemed like the perfect Gryffindor: foolish, brave, and too forgiving. And she knew that was what most people took—one glance.

But as the years passed, she realized that was only a mask, and that Harry was more Slytherin than Severus Snape. Harry managed to hide everything important to him, while being under the harshest spotlight in wizarding Britain.

Blaise’s mum had always said that obsession ran in their blood. She hadn’t understood what her mum meant until she overheard the Mudblood and Weasel talking about a bonding—Harry’s bonding. The imbeciles hadn’t even bothered to erect a Silencing Ward! Apparently, in order to defeat the Dark Lord, Harry had to bond with someone to stabilize his magic as a link that bound him to the Dark Lord was Severed.

She clutched the nearest bookshelf in the library as the Weasel said, “He’ll obviously pick Ginny. They’re perfect for each other. In love already, I’ll wager.”

The shelf splintered in Blaise’s hands, accompanied by a loud cracking sound. Slivers of wood dug into her skin as her hands clenched into fists, blood dripping to her knuckles and then falling to splat on the stone floor.

“What’s that?” the Mudblood asked. 

They came around the bookcase and stared at her with wide eyes. Before she could deliver a blistering tirade, warm arms encircled her from behind, and she was pulled back against a muscular chest. A chin rested on her left shoulder, and a cheek nuzzled against hers.

“Harry? What...?” The Weasel’s face was as red as his hair, and he kept spluttering wordlessly.

A hand ran up Blaise’s stomach soothingly. 

“Ginny? Are you kidding me?” 

Harry laughed and it was unlike the carefree childish laughter he usually voiced. This laugh was low, dark, chiding, and condescending. Blaise had never heard anything more beautiful. 

“The only witch who’s ever going to bed me is Blaise.”

Blaise smirked at the announcement, especially when the Mudblood flinched at the revelation. She twisted around and leaned her head back, eyes meeting Harry’s up close for the first time. 

As Harry’s hands yanked her hips closer and slightly chapped lips claimed her fiercely, all she could think was that if Harry’s father had lived, he would’ve told Harry that possessiveness ran in the Potter bloodline.


	68. The Knight in Dark Magic Armor AU: Regulus Black/Female Harry Potter

Hepatica Potter walked beside Regulus Black, grateful for his silent escort. Ever since she had become a prefect, back in fifth year, he had always joined her at the end of her rounds to guarantee her safe return to Gryffindor Tower. She never asked why he—the Defense Professor—always found her, but she wasn’t going to object. If he felt compelled to watch out for her, then she wouldn’t interfere. Extra protection wasn’t something to shun.

When the sound of giggling and moaning reached her ears, Hepatica winced. Having to interrupt canoodling couples was disgusting. She had even requested that Professor McGonagall assign a different female prefect—so that she wouldn’t be forced to see her fellow students behaving shamelessly, clothes in disarray and arms groping at each other. McGonagall had refused; Hepatica hadn’t spoken to her since.

Her steps slowed, and she wrapped her arms around herself. How could they justify such loose and immoral behavior? Hepatica didn’t understand! Couldn’t they feel their magic screaming for them to stop, as it was tainted? Couldn’t they hear Mother Magic weeping as they abused the power she had given them? How could they not respect themselves, each other, and their magic?

Regulus sighed and sneered in the direction the noises were coming from. “I’ll handle this, Heiress Potter,” he said.

He had offered Hepatica the perfect out, but she couldn’t accept it. As long as the blasted Head Girl pin was on her chest, and McGonagall refused to reassign it, she was obligated to fulfill her duties, whether she wanted them or not. “Unfortunately, Lord Black,” she whispered, “this is my responsibility.”

He opened his mouth, as if to refute her statement, but then shut it again and hung his head. Regulus looked disgusted and displeased at the situation, and Hepatica knew he had always been against pureblood ladies serving as prefects for this very reason; just like her, he didn’t think they should be exposed to such base, filthy actions.

Hepatica took a deep breath, smoothed the expression on her face, and followed the noises against her better judgment. When she reached a corner, it took all her Gryffindor bravery to force herself around it.

Then she saw something that she would never be able to unsee.

Hepatica’s wand fell from her nerveless fingers and clattered on the ground, though it didn’t interrupt the couple before her. Tears streamed down her face as she lifted a shaking hand to her mouth and stepped backwards. She backed right into Regulus’s chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away, apologize, or anything of the sort. Her eyes slammed shut, but it didn’t help at all. The image was engraved in her mind, and it only played across her closed eyelids like a Muggle film.

Kevin Entwhistle—a pureblood—had a witch pressed against the wall. But that wasn’t the part that made Hepatica wish someone would Obliviate her; that wasn’t the part that made her want to curl up in her bed in Potter Manor and lock down her personal wards for a year, so that not even the house-elves could get in. Entwhistle’s hand had been inching up the witch’s shirt, as he licked down her throat. Her hair was unbound, and his other hand was fisted in it.

The witch’s hair was blood red. Only Lily and Hepatica Potter had blood red hair.

Kevin Entwhistle, a cursed Ravenclaw pureblood, was touching and defiling someone Polyjuiced as Hepatica Potter. The thought of any male knowing what it was like to touch her hair, kiss her, lick her neck, stroke her stomach. . . . If she hadn’t missed dinner because Eva Selwyn had needed help with a delicate matter, Hepatica knew she would’ve thrown up everything she had eaten.

How had anyone gotten some of her hair? She always made sure to be so, so careful with it.

She hugged herself so hard that she knew she would bruise, but she didn’t care. She desperately wished for her father’s invisibility cloak, which was up in her trunk, because she wanted to fade away and never be seen again. For anyone to see her like that—Hepatica bit her lip and sobbed. She tried to back away farther, but Regulus blocked her path.

Hepatica had almost forgotten that Regulus was there, but then his magic erupted from his body. She had heard stories all of her life of his older brother, Sirius, who had once been friends with her father. Sirius had joined the Dark Lord, for reasons unknown, only to die soon afterward. However, it was said that the Dark Lord’s magic was the blackest, thickest, headiest power anyone would ever feel. Hepatica couldn’t imagine magic more lethal or addictive than Regulus’s.

It brushed past her in sharp, pointed lances of power. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel its form. It was a black knight, jousting to the death. 

“I-I’m s-sor—”

Hepatica flinched again as the impostor spoke with her voice. Did she really think that ‘I’m sorry’ would earn her forgiveness? How could anyone be that foolish? How dare anyone steal all that was sacred to her! Kevin Entwhistle had to know that he was devouring someone Polyjuiced as her; no pureblood could be imbecilic enough to believe she would ever— The tears on her face thickened, and Hepatica found that she was having trouble breathing.

She had never felt so disrespected, so betrayed, so used in her entire life.

“As Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I find you, Mister Entwhistle, and you, Laura Smythe, guilty of identity theft. A case which could have resulted in line theft. Under law, the punishment is death,” Regulus said, voice booming like thunder and electric as lightning.

Between one breath and the next, Hepatica smelled blood. The cloying scent flooded her nostrils, and she could taste sweet copper on her tongue.

“Open your eyes.” Regulus’s tone was more persuasive than the Imperius Curse. 

Hepatica didn’t want to see her wanton copy. She might lose her mind if she did.

Regulus cupped her shoulders. “It’s over, Heiress Potter. I promise. Now open your eyes.”

She did. Blood coated the corridor, splattering the walls and ceiling, with puddles of it on the floor. Entwhistle’s hands lay severed, feet away from his body. His eyes were missing and blood poured from his mouth, streaming out of the stump of his tongue. Not far from him was a smoking, twisted heap. If she hadn’t known that two people were in the corridor, she wouldn’t have guessed that the steaming lump had been human.

Hepatica tilted her head as her brain absorbed the scene. “Thank you. It’s . . . beautiful.” Very few people would be able to stare at such gore and find it beautiful; before tonight, Hepatica wouldn’t have been such a person. For this event alone, though, she would make an exception.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Regulus stated. His grip on her shoulders tightened before he let go. “I am a very selfish man, Heiress Potter. The sight was more than I could bear.” He stepped away from her.

As his magic retreated from the sanguineous slop, Hepatica grasped it with her own and pulled it close. She held it fast, though it didn’t struggle against her.

“Heiress Potter?” Regulus asked, speculative.

Hepatica turned to face him; his gray eyes were still alight with rage, and the magic that she didn’t have wrapped around her rippled with possessive hatred and murderous intent. Though the Potters were a Light Magic family, Hepatica couldn’t ignore what Regulus had just done for her. Her Grandmamma Dorea had been a Black; Hepatica was well versed in Dark Magic. 

She could’ve pretended ignorance. Hepatica could have feigned innocence, and acted as if she had no clue what Regulus meant by his actions. Except for two things: Potters are eternally honorable, and Hepatica was impressed. She had never imagined that any wizard would care so much for her. 

A blooded death—by Dark Magic—for her honor and virtue.

Hepatica knelt before Regulus, her gaze never straying from his as she picked up her wand from the floor. A quick flick was all it took to send her hair tumbling down. His magic vibrated in her grasp as the blood red locks covered her body. She picked up a lock of her hair and reached her left hand out; Regulus offered his own left hand, never blinking—as if she would vanish if he closed his eyes for a moment. She tied her hair around his wrist. 

His eyes shone brighter than a phoenix on burning day. Regulus helped her to her feet and hugged her. “I take thee prisoner, Lady Black, until thy heart should cease to beat.”

Hepatica folded herself more deeply inside his magic, and prayed that day would never come. Then she took a breath and sealed her fate. “I surrender, Lord Black, to a bonding won with blood.”


	69. The Wandlore AU: Charlie Weasley/Female Harry Potter

Helene Potter huddled in the kitchen of the Burrow, hot chocolate in her hands and screams in her head. The sight of the Dark Mark floating in the sky, of the mayhem and the terror continued to rub her nerves raw, even hours after she was safely away from the Death Eaters and the Quidditch World Cup. Her holly wand lay on the table; without a second thought, she snapped it.

He stepped out of the shadows then, from where Helene knew he had been watching her. His hair was a deep scarlet, not ginger like the other Weasleys. It was also long, and he didn’t bow to his mother’s loud, aggravating reprimands. He was the one who had apparently inherited Molly’s brothers’ title: Lord Prewett. He was the second-born, but got the greater title. He was the son who made her feel safe—a concept that was so foreign it had taken her days to understand the feeling or put words to it. 

He was Charles Prewett.

Charles stared at the broken wand in her hand, as a shattered phoenix song vanished as if it had never been. “It betrayed you,” he said.

Helene nodded, her posture painfully straight. Her wand had let someone else use it. The thought alone made her ill; she had trusted it implicitly, only to be betrayed. He understood, as she doubted anyone else would.

He stepped forward and cupped her chin. “My lady, allow me to take you away from all of this; it’s beneath you. It endangers you.” His other hand fisted. “I cannot tolerate it.”

Helene thought of her parents, who had placed their trust poorly, and she had paid the price. She thought of her godfather, who hadn’t fulfilled his duties, and she had paid the price. She thought of her mother’s relatives, who hated magic, and she had paid the price. And she tried to imagine a future where she didn’t have to pay the price for others’ decisions, where she was protected from betrayal and guarded by love fiercer than a dragon guarding its hoard.

“I swear on my magic I will never betray you,” he stated.

Charles’ magic blanketed her, and Helene truly smiled for the first time all year. Her answer was two words she hadn’t expected to live long enough to speak to any wizard. “My lord.”


	70. The Quidditch World Cup AU: Viktor Krum/Female Harry Potter

Harriet Potter sat in the stands at the Quidditch World Cup, enjoying the lack of attention. Who knew that a simple eye-corrective potion, a haircut, and clothes that actually fit would make her unrecognizable?

Sirius Black, obviously, since it had been his idea all along.

She still almost couldn't believe all of the changes that had occurred in her life over the past three months. Most amazing of all was that they had been positive! Her godfather had been cleared of all the false accusations, Pettigrew had been Kissed, and she no longer had to live with the Dursleys.

Since Hogwarts had closed for summer break, Harriet and Sirius had been able to live together. He had mentioned, in passing, selling his terrible childhood home in London. Then he had hired goblins to fix up the house in Godric's Hollow that her parents had been living in when they were attacked by Voldemort; he was determined to make good memories there, saying he wanted to do it right. She had seen him casting a spell that took several hours, and then heard him muttering about keeping the secret one hundred percent safe . . . but she still wasn't sure what he had meant.

"Enjoying the anonymity, Pup?" asked Sirius. He grinned at her.

Harriet nodded, a smile on her face. "Yes! It's nice that everyone isn't staring at me," she replied, unconsciously raising a hand to her forehead. Sirius had taught her a make-up glamour charm that covered the scar; not even a hint of it showed.

"Eh? That Krum's not bad," Sirius muttered before flagging down a wizard in yellow robes to place a bet.

Rolling her eyes at her godfather's compulsive gambling—he had a serious problem—she turned her attention back to the game. The Irish National Team was winning, but not because the Bulgarians were weak. In fact, the Bulgarians were flying brilliantly. It just seemed that luck favored the Irish, as amusing as that may be. However, Sirius was right about Krum. He was stunning, pulling maneuver after maneuver that she either hadn't mastered yet, or hadn't worked up the courage to attempt.

The sight of the Irish Seeker crashing into the turf and ripping the grass up in furrows made her wince. But more than she felt bad for the utter humiliation of the downed Seeker, she felt impressed with Krum's skills.

Ever since Harriet had come to the wizarding world, it seemed like everyone around her was lazy—except Hermione and the Ravenclaws. They never seemed to practice or apply themselves to anything. This made no sense to Harriet. It was magic! Magic! How could they not want to practice all day?

Seeing Krum swoop through the air, so quickly that smoke sometimes followed him, she couldn't help but flush a bit. Even a dunderhead would be able to tell that he was dedicated to Quidditch, and that he likely spent more time in the air than he did on the ground. She would guess that he was the type of man who looked weird walking, because nothing could match the grace of him on his broomstick.

The sound of Sirius cackling drew her gaze. He was rubbing his hands together. "Krum is definitely going to catch the Snitch. Money for me. Money for me. All to be spent frivolously!" he sang. Harriet snorted and grinned at her godfather. With the generous settlement from the Ministry of Magic for wrongful imprisonment, Sirius had splurged excessively. She hadn't known it was possible to splurge in excess, but he had done it. He had been forced to add additional rooms to the house just to hold all of the stuff that he bought her and himself. And despite the fact that he was overdoing it, she couldn't bear to tell him to stop. He had been in Azkaban for over ten years.

If he wanted to melt ten thousand Galleons in a cauldron and then bathe in it, she would just tell him it was a great idea.

Harriet went to push her hair behind her right ear, only for her fingertips to meet air. She blushed and glanced away, as if she hadn't just done that. It was a habit she had had for many, many years. Now, though, Aunt Petunia wasn't around to insist that she grow her hair out and wear it long. When Sirius had suggested she get a pixie cut, she had jumped at the chance: anything to be different and new. So now her hair was very short and soft. She loved it to death, but she still wasn't used to it.

She jolted back to the present when Viktor Krum went streaking past on his broom; he flew so quickly that the wind in his wake ruffled her hair. Harriet gasped, hands clenched together as she leaned forward in her seat. For a moment, she thought he was going to crash into the stands. He didn't. The Irish Seeker chased him, but he wasn't gaining much ground. The Snitch flapped closer to Krum, never evading him by much.

"You can do it," she whispered as Krum zipped past her again, going the opposite way. For just a second, she thought he heard her, because she would swear he glanced at her from the corner of his eye . . . but that's a silly notion. A professional Seeker would never take his eye off the Snitch, and especially not in the World Cup.

Then, between one blink and the next, he had it. Golden wings fluttered through the cage his fingers made; the announcer was screaming Ireland's victory, but spent the majority of his time describing how talented Viktor Krum was to catch the Snitch. Harriet knew she wouldn't have been able to get it, even with the Irish Seeker's injuries. At least, she didn't think she could. Maybe that was part of success? Maybe she needed to believe she would get it every time, no matter how long the odds were.

"Ready to leave, Pup?" Sirius asked, eyes sparkling. "I have money to collect. We should go for ice cream! No, gelato! Have you ever been to wizarding Italy? They have the best—"

A throat cleared beside her. Harriet looked up to see Viktor Krum hovering in the air, shoulders tense.

Harriet and Sirius had front row tickets, because "Marauders only deserve the best". She glanced toward Sirius, and then back to Krum; he was staring right at her. "Uh, can I help you?" What could he possibly want with me?

"For you." He opened his hand and thrust it toward her. The game's Snitch lay on his callused palm; it was still.

"Me?" she squeaked, cheeks reddening. He was giving her the Snitch? Why? It wasn't because she was the girl-who-lived, was it? But he was from Bulgaria or something. Would he even know who she was?

"For you," he repeated, thick brows drawn together in a scowl.

"Um, thank you?" It came out sounding like a question, but he didn't object. So Harriet took the Snitch from him. It was of much higher quality than the one they used at Hogwarts. She caressed it and slid it into her pocket.

Instead of leaving, Krum turned his intense gaze on Sirius. "You are being her father?" he asked.

Sirius's eyes narrowed. He glanced from Krum to her, and then he started snickering. "Godfather. But I am her guardian," he added, though Harriet couldn't understand why.

"Oh. I see," Krum said. He focused on Harriet for a moment, as if checking to see if she was still herself—which made even less sense than this entire bizarre encounter already did. (Ron was going to go crazy when he found out about this; she had met Viktor Krum!) After turning back to Sirius again, Krum said, "We are haffing much better ice cream in Germany than the Italians are haffing gelato."

Huh? What did that have to do with anything?

Smirking, Sirius nudged her with his elbow. "Well, Pup, what do you want? Ice cream? Gelato?"

Harriet wrinkled her nose. Was gelato like jell-O? Aunt Petunia had made her eat that for a month straight once, insisting she was overweight. It had been revolting. "Ice cream," she stated. Ice cream was delicious; it reminded her of the previous summer, when she had spent a great deal of time with Mr. Fortescue. He made her sundaes that ruined her appetite, and ice cream cones that wouldn't melt. She loved ice cream!

"Is seffen acceptable?" Krum asked Sirius.

Sirius chuckled as her head swung between them. "Seven is perfect."

"Perfect for wh—?" Before she could finish her question, Krum flew forward and hooked an arm around her waist. He hefted her into the air as if she didn't weigh anything, and then plopped her on his lap, one arm wound around her waist. What in the world is happening?

"Enjoy your first date! Have fun! Be safe!" Sirius yelled as he waved his hand enthusiastically through the air. "See you later, Pup. Remember . . . never kiss on the first date!"

She was so stunned at the words escaping Sirius's mouth that she didn't even blush. She sat still, shocked, as Viktor slid a chain over her neck. Before she could offer a protest, or even really understand what was happening, Krum had spoken and a hooking sensation caught her stomach. The force of the Portkey shoved her back against his chest, causing him to tighten his grip.

They reappeared beneath a sky that was pale purple, the sun just starting to set. Oh, right. Wasn't Germany an hour ahead? Wait, Germany? She was in Germany with someone she had spoken less than ten words to. What the heck?

"Vot is being your fafforite ice cream?" Krum asked, as if he hadn't just basically kidnapped her (with her godfather's permission) to another country for a date she hadn't agreed to.

But when she opened her mouth, a tirade didn't spill out. Neither did hysterical protests. Instead, Harriet said, "Chocolate."

Krum smiled against her neck. "Mine is also being chocolate." He chuckled as he steered them down toward the skyline. "Yes, I think is vorking very vell."

Sighing, Harriet leaned her full weight against his chest. He only tightened his hold again. She had no idea what he was talking about, but decided it would be best to not try and understand the lunacy of the past five minutes. She would just let Viktor Krum—the world-famous Seeker—take her out for chocolate ice cream, and then forget this ever happened.

Because there was no chance Sirius was serious about Krum's intentions. This couldn't be a real date . . . could it?


	71. Complementary Magic AU: Lily Evans/James Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm importing this from Chancing Chaos.

Lily Evans threw her braid over her shoulder as Professor McGonagall led her and her parents out of Gringotts. The bag of Galleons and Sickles and Knuts felt heavy, but it made her feel like a grown-up to know that her parents trusted her to carry it. She had to be careful with it, because she needed to buy all her school supplies and a wand.

“Madam Malkin makes the best school robes,” Professor McGonagall said. “It’s just down the alley. Would you like me to accompany you?”

“I think we’ve got it from here,” Lily’s dad said. “Don’t you, dear?”

Lily’s mum laughed. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. We remember the way out, and I’m sure Lily will want to explore. It would be rude to occupy your entire afternoon.”

“You’re sure?” asked Professor McGonagall. She looked like she would be a strict teacher, but Lily was all right with that. She loved learning new things.

“Of course,” Lily’s dad said. “We’ve got it from here.”

Professor McGonagall smiled kindly, but skeptically. “Okay, then. I’ll see you on September 1, Miss Evans.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Lily said. It was harder than it should be to look at her professor as she thanked her, because there was so much new and interesting stuff to see. Diagon Alley was a feast for the eyes, and Lily hoped that she wouldn’t have to leave it any time soon.

The wards over the alley were powerful. Professor McGonagall had explained them briefly when Lily mentioned the warm, safe feeling she received after stepping through the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron.

“Lily, let’s go get your robes.”

“Yes, Mum,” Lily replied. She wasn’t very enthusiastic about robes; it sounded a lot like wearing a dress all the time—even boys. And Petunia, Lily’s sister, always said that Lily was ugly in dresses. Her mum and dad said she looked lovely in them, but she wasn’t sure if Petunia was just jealous, or if her parents were just being nice. She had asked Severus Snape once, but he hadn’t answered. She was still sore about that.

Lily knew she didn’t look like most girls her age—or any age, in fact. Everyone else in her family had fair hair. Lily didn’t fit in; her hair was as red as maraschino cherries and always had been. The kids at school teased her for dying it, refusing to believe it was natural. Everyone thought her eyes were colored contacts, though on one memorable occasion a boy had accused her of being an alien. Petunia said that Lily’s eyes weren’t real, because that shade of green didn’t exist in nature. Maybe she had magic eyes? Was that even possible?

A bell jangled as her dad opened the door to Madam Malkin’s shop.

“Hogwarts, dear?” a smiling witch asked.

“Yes!” Lily said. She felt a grin split her face; shopping was one of her favorite things to do, though she would never tell Severus that. He would call her a ‘girl’, and then sigh, as if she had lost all sense. It hurt when he did that, even if she knew he would apologize later.

“The Potter Heir’s being fitted, but we have room for you. Come on back, then.”

Lily followed the smiling witch after her mum and dad sat in chairs and picked up magazines with moving pictures. It was like a combination of the newspaper and television. How exciting!

“Up you go!”

After stepping on the indicated stand, Lily glanced over to her left, because the humming was distracting. A witch was on her knees on the floor, waving her wand up and down. The hem of a set of black robes stitched up in motion with her wand.

“I’m James Potter.”

A flush touched Lily’s cheeks as she realized that she had been staring. She peeked up and saw a boy; he was taller than her, but not by much. His hair was black and messy, like he couldn’t bear to sit still long enough to comb it. His smile was wide and happy. “You’re cute.” Lily slapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words escaped, wishing she knew how to make herself invisible. She had been working hard to stop herself from saying whatever came to mind; her mum said that Lily was too open and honest. How could a person be too honest?

The witches laughed. Lily ducked her head; she hated it when people laughed at her.

“Thank you. Um, you’re cute too,” James whispered.

Was he making fun of her? Lily gathered her courage and met his gaze; he was blushing. James didn’t have that mean, lying look on his face. So she decided to mind her manners. “I’m Lily Evans.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Evans,” said James. He offered her his hand.

Lily put her hand in his. Before she could shake his hand, he lifted hers and kissed her knuckles. The mirror showed that her cheeks were almost as red as her hair, but Lily didn’t care about being embarrassed. She was too awed by how James’s magic felt; it was even more warm and safe than the wards of Diagon Alley. Her mouth fell open. She wanted to trust him, and Lily’s trust was very hard to earn.

His eyes were the color of chestnuts; Lily liked them. “You feel safe,” she said. For some reason those words made him blush even darker than her hair, which she had never seen anyone do before. Feeling like she would choke if she stuck her foot any further in her mouth, Lily desperately changed the subject. “What House do you want to be in at Hogwarts?”

“Gryffindor!” James said, as if he were latching onto a lifeline. “All Potters are Sorted into Gryffindor. Honorable, you know?” Lily had no idea what that meant, but she was determined to find out; maybe the bookstore would have information on wizarding genealogy? “What House would you like to be in, Miss Evans?”

When McGonagall had described them, Lily knew that she would be Sorted into Ravenclaw. She loved learning, and she wasn’t very good at making friends. Now, though, staring into James’s chestnut-colored eyes, and feeling the comfort of his magic, she was determined to argue with the Sorting Hat until it let her be with him. “I’m going to be a Gryffindor,” Lily stated.

“Oh!” James smiled at her; his teeth were the whitest Lily had ever seen. “Then we’ll be together, Miss Evans.”

Lily liked the sound of that. She would do almost anything to stay near this cute boy and his warm magic. Was her magic comforting to him as well? If James hadn’t been so embarrassed by her comment on his magic, she would’ve asked him. She didn’t know if it was rude, though, and she didn’t want him to think she was an idiot or mean. In fact, Lily could only think of one thing she wanted to change as she and James kept glancing shyly at each other as they stumbled and stuttered through topics of conversation.

She wished James would just call her ‘Lily.’


	72. Proof of Courage AU: Frank Longbottom/Female James Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm importing this from Chancing Chaos.

"All right. Gather 'round. It's time for the drawing!"

Jamie Potter rolled her eyes. It was a Gryffindor House tradition--the Proof of Courage. Every Sunday morning, two garish hats (that she knew had been stolen from Headmaster Dumbledore) were held aloft by the seventh year prefects. One hat held one piece of paper for every Gryffindor student, bearing each student's full name. The second hat held slips of paper with daring feats on them. The first day of each school year, every student wrote down a single test of courage and submitted it into the second hat.

Like clockwork, every Sunday morning, a name and slip of paper with a dare were drawn. The named student only had until the end of the day to complete his or her task. Since each student had submitted their own name in pen and magic, failure to fulfill the requirements was ... Unpleasant.

"Just get it over with already," Jamie grumbled.

"I know! They're dragging it out forever today!" Sirius Black, her best friend, complained. "I hope it's me. I haven't been chosen since third year!"

Personally, as much as Jamie adored pranks, she hated this Proof of Courage tradition. 

Her name had been chosen twice. The first time, when she was just a first year, she had to steal a book from the Restricted Section. Jamie ended up grabbing one that was cursed. She spent almost a month in the hospital wing recovering from a stabbing pain in her head that worsened whenever she moved.

Then, the last week of her second year, Jamie had had to be a Slytherin for the day. The magic of the blasted Proof of Courage had actually ReSorted her for just one day. So she wore the Slytherin uniform, ate at their table, sat with them in classes, and was forced to join them in their common room for the evening, as well as sleep in the girls' dormitories for a night.

The Slytherins had not been amused.

They hadn't killed her or dragged her to their Dark Lord, though. So, that was good, right?

The female prefect, Camellia Brown, pulled a piece of paper from the hat that held the names. "Jamie Potter!" she announced.

Jamie almost swore, she was so upset. But not only would that be unladylike, and greatly upsetting to her mother, it also wouldn't change anything. Why couldn't Sirius's name have been chosen? He actually liked this stupid tradition.

Frank Longbottom, the male prefect, pulled a slip of paper from his hat. He paled. "I'll just choose again, yeah?"

"That's against the rules!" Lily Evans said. "The hat won't let you pick again." 

No matter how he tried, Frank's hand wouldn't go back in the hat he held. Jamie started to worry. What was so bad that he had reacted like that? None of the prefects had ever tried to redraw the daring feat in all the years she had been at Hogwarts.

"I'm sorry, Heiress Potter," Frank whispered. 

"Don't be so melodramatic, Frankie," Sirius said. "It can't really be all that bad, can it?"

Sometimes Sirius's inability to notice what was really going on around him drove Jamie crazy. How could he be that thick? Of course it was bad! Frank wouldn't have reacted like he did otherwise. "What do I have to do by the end of the day?" Jamie asked. Worst case scenarios ran through her head.

The Proof of Courage test was worse than everything she thought.

"Confess your feelings to the person you love," Frank whispered.

"What?" she rasped. Pureblood witches did not confess. Pureblood wizards expressed interest in whom they liked, and then the pureblood witches got to accept or reject them—if their parents allowed them to have any input at all. And on top of that, she had been very careful to hide her real feelings. Not even her mother knew whom she had fallen in love with. "I can't ..."

"I'm so sorry," Frank said.

Jamie almost threw up in front of everyone in the common room. This could not possibly be happening to her! 

Sirius nudged her with his elbow. "Maybe he won't mind, Jamie. Maybe he'll be happy to know how you feel about him."

"He's engaged," Jamie said, hands shaking. This couldn't be happening to her. It couldn't!

"What?" Sirius paled, like Frank had earlier. She wasn't surprised that he was shocked at her interest in an engaged wizard. That had to be the reason for his reaction, didn't it? In her defense, she had fallen in love with him before he got engaged.

Once again, Frank blanched and said, "I'm sorry, Heiress Potter."

The hats weren't as strict as the Goblet of Fire, but they would still wreak havoc with her magic, causing it to fluctuate and twist, as if she were still a child with no control. It would hamper her schoolwork. It would continue to worsen the longer she went without fulfilling the feat.

Jamie pushed herself to her feet and wrapped her arms around herself. "Worse case scenario, I start a blood feud. It can't get worse than that ... I think." She walked over to Frank.

Frank held out the paper, so she could see the words for herself. "I ..."

Without glancing at the slip of paper, Jamie set her hands on Frank's shoulders for balance. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. After pulling away she smiled sadly at him. "Alice is a lucky witch, Heir Longbottom."

He made a strangled sound in his throat. It was the only noise in the room. Frank grasped her elbow, so she couldn't back away without struggling. "You're going to bond with Sirius, Heiress Potter. Everyone knows that. No one ever doubted it," he whispered.

"No, I'm not." Was that why no one had ever asked her on a Courtship Date? They all just assumed she was in love with her best friend? "I love Sirius to death, but not like that," Jamie replied.

This time Sirius was the one who sounded like he was being strangled. Jamie was shocked. He wasn't really in love with her, was he? That would be devastating; she couldn't return those feelings.

"I need to speak with Alice first, to explain things, but if you'd allow it, I would love to take you to Hogsmeade next weekend."

Alice was sweet. She was one of Jamie's friends, though not the closest. It would break Alice's heart if Frank broke off their engagement. The three of them would be in the middle of a scandal. The gossip would be rampant. If everyone had really thought she was going to bond with Sirius, she could only imagine how twisted and deformed and cruel the story would become.

But when it came to things that really mattered to her, Jamie Potter had always been selfish.

"I'd love that."


	73. Mourning Gloves AU: Sirius Black/Female James Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm importing this from Chancing Chaos.

Jamie Potter looked like death warmed over. She covered her mouth with her hand, as if that would be able to stifle her sobs and keep her from throwing up everything that she had eaten in the past year. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the bags under them were almost as black as her hair.

The official notice had been delivered by an owl at 2:17 a.m. Her parents, Lord and Lady Potter, had died of a sudden illness the night before.

The black lace mourning gloves she wore itched her face, but Jamie wouldn’t remove them. She couldn’t. 

“Mum and D-Dad are …”

Jamie bit her lip viciously, but it couldn’t change the truth. Her parents were dead. Dead. She was an orphan now. 

And with their passing, she was now Lady Potter.

Swallowing back tears and bile, because her headache from weeping and vomiting repeatedly was still pounding behind her eyes, Jamie pinned a black lace veil into her hair. It hung in front of her eyes, level with the bottom of her nose. It did nothing to hide how haunted she was.

The sound of Lily Evans rousing caused Jamie to straighten her back so much that it hurt. She didn’t want to see anyone; she didn’t want to face reality. She didn’t have a choice.

As Heiress Potter, she had been free to do so much that she no longer could. Like run to Sirius Black for solace and comfort. After reading the letter, she had thrust her shaking feet into her slippers, prepared to sneak into the boys’ dorm and curl up at his side, safe with him. Heiress Potter could get away with such things … because they were childhood friends and no one would ever suggest anything inappropriate had occurred.

Lady Potter, on the other hand, had to follow a plethora of laws, customs, and traditions that did not apply to a mere Heiress.

At sixteen, she was the Head of an Ancient House. The truth cut her heart to ribbons.

There wouldn’t be any more pranks. There wouldn’t be any more detentions for back-talking or joking around. Jamie crossed the dorm room and left before Lily could get out of bed and see what had happened. She didn’t want to talk about it. “There won’t be any more Quidditch,” Jamie breathed. She was the last of her bloodline now; she couldn’t participate in anything dangerous that might harm her and chance wiping out her family forever.

“No more broom racing. No more Abraxan riding. No more dueling tournaments.” With each truth Jamie spoke, she felt the walls close in around her. Until she bonded and bore a child to carry on her bloodline, her life might as well not be her own.

Jamie pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. No more sleeping in Sirius’s bed when she had a nightmare. No more safe, warm hugs whenever she wanted one. No more strong arms wrapped around her waist or hands at her back to guide her. No more studying curled up at his side. No more jokes from her mother about Potters being unable to resist Blacks.

The sun was rising. Jamie wished it wouldn’t. Why should the world go on, as if hers hadn’t just ended?

“Jamie, you’re up—”

She dropped her hand to her chest, squeezed it into a fist, and rasped, “Don’t call me that.”

Sirius’s exuberant footsteps halted. The common room was painfully silent. “What’s wrong, Jamie? What ha—?”

Jamie wanted to curl in a ball in his lap and cry harder than ever. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. She straightened her posture even more, as if she were in the presence of Mother Magic herself, waiting to pass inspection as a worthy pureblood lady. “Please don’t refer to me so familiarly.”

Sirius made a sound that was a mix of outrage and a puppy’s whimper. It tore Jamie’s heart even further. Pushing him away … there was nothing in the world that could hurt him more. Jamie didn’t have a choice.

“Heiress Potter, I—”

It took everything Jamie had not to flinch away and vomit. Sirius had never called her that in their lives. And the first time he did, it no longer applied. “Wrong again,” she whispered. She dropped her hands to her sides, so he could see the mourning gloves.

“No.” Sirius took a stumbling step forward. “No. No. No!” He ran across the room to her, grief and disbelief in his voice. He reached for her shoulder. 

For the first time in her life, Jamie deliberately moved away from Sirius Black. Her stomach roiled as she turned to face him. Her family honor was the only thing keeping her from throwing herself into his arms—the one place she always yearned to be.

“I name you Gryffindor Quidditch Captain in my place. I apologize for the inconvenience of deserting you mid-season.” Jamie hated each word that left her mouth. Too formal. Too distant. Too not her-and-Sirius.

“I don’t care about Quidditch!” Sirius snapped. “I care about you!”

“Thank you for your consideration,” she stated, words falling from her lips by rote. She didn’t want to say that. She wanted to say how much she loved him. Jamie wanted to beg him to hold her. She wanted to find a Time-Turner and change the past.

“Your mum asked me to wait until we graduated,” Sirius whispered. He reached for Jamie, but she took another step back. They both flinched. “She’ll have to forgive me. I won’t leave you alone and untouchable for over a year. I won’t. My mother banished me, so I don’t need her approval to forsake my birth name. Regulus can rule the cursed family when he’s older.” Sirius knelt and offered Jamie his wand. “I don’t have a home, and the only wealth I have is what Uncle Alphard left me. But I would rather rot in Azkaban for a decade than be unable to hold you in my arms everyday and give you all the love in my soul. Bond with me, Lady Potter. Please,” Sirius begged.

Jamie’s already cracked façade crumpled. She collapsed in his arms and stabbed a lance of her magic through both their hearts. It was the most exquisite agony she had ever felt. “Bound by Magic, never to part.”

“May I ever live in your heart,” Sirius finished, completing the vows.

The new Lord and Lady Potter clutched each other desperately, trembling, and huddled on the floor. Their first kiss was wet with tears.

“I thought I lost you, too,” Jamie whimpered. “I thought I lost all of you at the same time.” She burrowed against him. “I wanted to die.”

“Never!” Sirius kissed her fiercely. “You’ll never lose me.” His eyes were haunted, and his hands still shook against her. “Let’s leave Britain. Let’s get away from the war and the Dark Lord. Please, Jamie. If anything happened to you … I …” His grip hurt.

Even though the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter had been located in England for centuries, Jamie understood her husband’s point-of-view all too well. Losing him would destroy her utterly. So she forfeited without a fight. “Whatever you desire, my lord, is yours.”


	74. Necromancy AU: Harry Potter/Female Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For DisorganizedKitten. I read your prompts and my brain went, "Both? Both! Both is good."

Lord Harry Potter gazes out upon the attendees of the Ministry Gala, an empty cognac glass in his hand. The buzz of everyone chattering is dull. He’s tuned out the chatter to the best of his ability without Silencing the crowd entirely.

Life is … static.

That’s what the feeling is. It feels like he’s been locked in a telly that’s only showing black and white static. 

Winning the war was supposed to be his greatest triumph. It isn’t. If anything, it’s made his life worse. Things aren’t  _ better _ now. Harry’s not  _ happy. _ Isn’t he supposed to be happy? Wasn’t that the point of it all?

Instead, Harry feels like he’s drifting through life. He’s not really a part of it anymore, is he? Or is he? Harry doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t know anything. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. He knows  _ one _ thing.

Nothing has felt right since the Dark Lady died, since her Horcrux died inside him. Harry misses it. Desperately. It doesn’t make any sense to miss something that he didn’t even know was with him until he lost it … but he does. 

Isn’t that the problem, no matter how it would horrify his best friends if they knew?

He spent nearly his entire life with a shard of an Oligarchy witch’s soul inside him. Regardless of the circumstances in which he gained that shard, a ruptured Soul-Bond has drastic effects on the person left behind.

Harry knows that firsthand. He’s experienced so many broken magical bonds throughout his life that it’s a bloody miracle he’s even remotely sane.

“—tter?”

“What did you say?” Harry asks by rote as he sets the cognac glass down on a passing server’s tray.

Honestly, he’s not even sure which of the wizards in the circle of Ministry lackeys fawning over him spoke in the first place. Their voices all merge together into an obsequious tone he came to despise back in his fifth year when Madam Umbridge invaded Hogwarts and made an awful year even worse. If he didn’t loathe Umbridge so much, Harry would almost be impressed by her ability to ruin everything.

“I asked what you intend to do about it, Lord Potter,” a wizard with a weak chin and a harsh squint says.

Harry doesn’t have the foggiest idea of what the wizard means, because he hadn’t paid the slightest bit of attention to the conversation earlier. However, the wizard’s words stick in Harry’s mind and play on repeat in relation to something entirely different.

_ What are you going to do about it? _

Without even realizing it, Harry reaches up and traces the faded scar on his forehead.

The Elder Wand vibrates against his forearm as the Resurrection Stone heats up the ring it’s now set in. It reminds him of the perfect temperature for bathwater, welcoming and relaxing. Combined, the two sensations push away the staticky world he’s been living in since the Final Battle.

What is he going to do about it?

A grin overtakes Harry’s face, and he’s not the least bit surprised when several of the people surrounding him shuffle slightly farther away. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that it's manic enough that he could be mistaken for a pureblood Black.

“I’m going to take care of it,” Harry says, relishing each word he speaks. His magic shivers through him in a rolling crest of waves. It’s  _ delighted _ with his decision.

“E-excellent.”

_ “Right now,” _ Harry tacks on, unwilling to delay now that he’s decided on a course of action.

“Rig—”

Harry Disapparates through the Ministry Wards as if they’re not even there. It likely shatters their tiny, little minds. But, frankly, it’s not even the most  _ magically impossible _ thing he’s done today. And by the time the sun rises … well, it won’t even be measurable on the same scale, will it?

There’s a bite to the November air when Harry appears in the cemetery at Little Hangleton. He brushes his fingers across worn and ragged headstones; many are spell-damaged from the battle that took place here several years ago. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the place where Wormtail once tied him up and cut his arm open.

For just an instant, the barest breath of a moment, Harry wonders if this is madness. It is. It really, truly is…. 

That doesn’t stop him.

The Elder Wand slides into his hand on its own. Ever since he became Master of Death, ever since he ascended to the title of High Lord Peverell (though he’s not claimed it in public), it’s answered to his will and thoughts without a single gesture or spoken word necessary. It kisses along the skin of his hand, spinning around his wrist in a counter-clockwise circle. Dirt rises from the ground as it does, revealing a mostly intact skeleton. For the sheer irony, Harry Summons a single rib from Tom Marvolo Riddle Sr.’s desecrated grave.

The Resurrection Stone on his hand burns. When Harry glances down at it, it’s a void of darkness. Lips curling, he speaks a name with Necromantic-Intent, “Merope Gaunt.”

She appears before him, an unattractive wraith beaten-down by the life she lived. “High Lo—”

Harry doesn’t let her finish. He doesn’t need to speak to her—not at all. Merope did one thing right in life. It only seems fitting for her to do the exact same thing right in death: give life to Maia Gaunt. 

“Bone of the Father, Soul of the Mother, you will resurrect your child.”

Merope screeches as she’s torn asunder, rendered down to particles, and fused into the rib-bone that’s glowing with an ebony light as it levitates in the wintry air. It spins, end over end, seven times. Then it comes to an abrupt halt before snapping vertically and impaling the frozen ground.

Harry watches rapturously as the Dark Lady manifests before him, looking exactly as she did in the diary. She’s all slender curves and shadowed emerald eyes and finely arched brows and porcelain-pale skin. Her hair writhes like shadows before settling down into intricate braids that glisten with magic like the sheen of light off obsidian.

Her plush lips downturn the slightest bit as her gaze flays him. She circles him slowly and it takes everything Harry has not to turn around and follow her with his gaze. Not because he fears she will stab him in the back. No. Harry just doesn’t want to take his eyes off of her. She’s exquisite in the black lace gown his magic rendered for her.

“Maia Gaunt, High Lady Slytherin,” she introduces herself, her words creating fog in the frigid air, once she finishes her inspection of him.

To have her sane … her soul whole … it’s a delight like Harry’s never experienced before. To be in the presence of her magic is the kindest of agonies.

“Harry Potter, High Lord Peverell.”

Maia holds out her hand imperiously, palm up, and an engraved bone hairbrush with blood-red bristles slaps into her palm with a flash of emerald lightning. 

Harry stops breathing; his magic falls entirely still. Is she—?

“I bind myself to thee, as thy equal, until Avalon ceases to exist,” Maia vows as she offers him the hairbrush crafted of her own blood and bone.

Harry accepts Maia’s hairbrush and traces the serpentine engravings with his fingers. He’s never felt so avaricious in his life. But this … this is one material possession he will never allow  _ anyone _ to steal from him.

Harry’s magic buffets their surroundings, ripping up the earth and shattering gravestones. The ground is scorched in a perfect circle around them, leaving them untouched. 

The Oligarchy Bonding Vow aches in the marrow of Harry’s bones as it writhes between them, incomplete and unfulfilled. Wreathed in Olde Magick, Necromantic Magic still heavy in the air, he’s never felt more alive.

“I bind myself to thee, as thy equal, until Avalon ceases to exist,” Harry vows. 

The ley-lines overflow. Stars fall from the sky. Eternity is born.


	75. Triwizard Tournament AU: Cedric Diggory/Female Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For acourtofbooksandtea. It's been a long time since I last wrote this pairing. I had fun.

The second that Heiress Harriet Potter lands in a graveyard, she knows something is horribly wrong. Every other part of the Triwizard Tournament has taken place on Hogwarts’ grounds. From the moment the unknown person put her name into the Goblet of Fire until now, every bit of the Tournament has been at Hogwarts.

Harriet knows the grounds of Hogwarts like she knows the surface of her wand. Better even.

The Marauder’s Map is one of two special items she has that used to belong to her father. She’s spent countless hours memorizing it as she wanders the castle and surroundings beneath the Cloak of Invisibility.

There isn’t a graveyard anywhere in the school boundaries.

A Death Eater or Dark Lord sympathizer must have messed with the coordinates of the Triwizard Cup Portkey. Her godfather is going to be livid. He’s probably losing his mind at Hogwarts right now.

“Side-Along Apparate me,” Harriet whispers as the familiar sound of snake scales rubbing against stone reaches her ears.  _ “Now.” _

Heir Cedric Diggory might be a sixth-year still, but he’s seventeen. He took the Apparition lessons with the seventh-years. She knows he did. Though Harriet wouldn’t be surprised if his father had taught him all the theory in advance. 

Cedric doesn’t stop to ask her questions. He doesn’t ask if she’s sure. He doesn’t pause to ask her where he should Apparate them. Instead, as if he’s reached the exact same conclusions she’s come to herself, Cedric yanks her against his chest.

As he’s spinning them in place to Disapparate, Harriet can just make out a low, raspy voice saying, “Kill the—”

Harriet yelps as she lands on her back on a bed with Cedric atop her, pressing her down into the mattress.

“I am so sorry!” Cedric says as he pushes away from her. His cheeks are red with mortification and his gray eyes are enormous with shock and horror. “I swear, Heiress Potter, I wasn’t trying to—” He falls off the bed in his rush to get off of and away from her.

“Are you okay?” Harriet asks as she looks down at his sprawled body. 

Cedric is splayed out on a blue rug, his hands doing absolutely nothing to hide the blush that’s crawling down his neck. It’s bright and only gets brighter with each passing second.

“Just kill me now,” Cedric mutters.

At least, that’s what Harriet thinks he said. His hands muffle the words pretty badly, to be honest. “What?”

Harriet waits for Cedric to gain control of himself. Yes, their landing was more than a little awkward. Okay, it was  _ a lot _ awkward. And her godfather, Sirius Black, is likely going to prank the ever-loving hell out of him for it. But it could be a lot—

_ “I am so sorry,” _ Cedric says softly as he drops his hands beside his head, so the backs of them land on the halo of his hair. “Dad drilled into my head that I should always have an emergency Apparition destination. I never meant to …” He drags a hand down his face and sighs tiredly. “I meant to bring us here. Obviously. Since we’re here. But I didn’t think about the consequences of—I am so sorry.”

Harriet looks away from Cedric long enough to look up at the room. There’s a Diggory Heraldry Banner on the nearest wall, beside a desk with books and parchments on it. It’s saffron and navy. The woven text, when translated from Latin to English, reads: Always Loyal.

This is … this is … Cedric’s bedroom.

She’s in Cedric’s  _ bedroom. _

Harriet takes a deep breath; it does nothing to calm her racing heart. She … she has no frame of reference for this. None at all. She’s not  _ supposed _ to have a frame of reference for this! The only wizard’s bedroom she should ever be inside in her life is her lord-husband’s.  _ After _ they’re bonded.

Cedric sits up and hangs his head. His hands shake as he fists them in his lap. “Heiress Potter, I am so unbelievably sorry for—”

“I’m not.”

“What?” Cedric’s head snaps up. His gray eyes are damp.

“I heard someone use the words ‘kill the’ right as you got us away from there, Heir Diggory. If you hadn’t acted so quickly, one of us would likely be dead right now. Maybe both of us. Dead is worse than—” With a blush on her face, Harriet gestures between her and Cedric and then to the room around them.

“I—” Cedric opens and closes his mouth, but nothing else comes out. He just stares at her, head tilted thoughtfully.

Harriet gets off the bed and tries and fails to straighten out her clothes. They’re wrinkled and dirty and torn from the Triwizard Maze and Portkey and Side-Along Apparition. She tucks all her feelings on the matter away, refuses to acknowledge her racing pulse, and says, “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I know you’re courting Miss Chang, and—”

“No, I’m not,” Cedric says. “She was caught, well, it’s not relevant to this except for the fact that I’m no longer courting her.”

“Oh.”

Harriet doesn’t know what to say. She thought she was over this silly crush. Hadn’t she promised herself to get over it when she went to ask Cedric to the Yule Ball and tracked him down just in time to hear him ask Chang? Hadn’t she given herself a stern talking to when Chang was Cedric’s hostage during the Second Task? Hadn’t she spent  _ months _ convincing herself it was a stupid crush and to ignore it, that she couldn’t possibly have fallen in love  _ already? _ Even though Potters were famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) for it.

“What if I  _ want _ it to mean something, Heiress Potter?” Cedric asks as he stands from the floor. He’s tall and fit and lean, towering over her now that he’s standing. “What if I  _ want _ you to tell your godfather?”

He can’t possibly— 

“You want me to tell  _ Lord Sirius Black _ that  _ you took me to bed? _ Are you sure you’re a Hufflepuff? Because I don’t know any  _ Gryffindors _ who would have the guts to own up to that.” Harriet can’t help the way her lips twitch at how she intentionally worded that in the worst possible way.

Cedric flushes brighter before paling. “Maybe don’t put it quite like that.”

“How should I put it, then?” Harriet asks challengingly, a wide grin spreading on her face.

“He’s going to kill me,” Cedric groans, shoulders slumping.

Laughter spills from Harriet’s mouth. She pats Cedric consolingly on the shoulder and promises, “I’ll protect you from him, my insanely brave badger.”

Cedric stills, before looking at her through the fringe of his hair. A slow, gentle smile curls his lips as he asks, “Your badger, huh?”

The Potter possessiveness rears its head and colors her tone as she replies,  _ “Mine.” _


	76. “The Only One” Prequel AU: James Potter & Sirius Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For erica126. I will never get tired of writing James and Sirius.

Heir James Potter leans up on his tip-toes to kiss his mother goodbye. Many of the other students might think it’s too childish to show such affection, but he never will. His mother, Lady Dorea Potter, is everything a pureblood witch should be. And James knows exactly how difficult it was for her to carry him to term. 

James is her miracle baby. Her gift from Mother Magic. 

He’s never going to shy away from his mother’s hugs or kisses to the forehead. He’ll never be too old for affection or care. She deserves better than that from him. A mother’s love,  _ his mother’s love, _ isn’t something to be ashamed of.

“Write to me tonight, after your Sorting, okay?” Dorea says as she brushes his fringe back from his eyes. 

Like always, the wild black hair falls right back into his face. Like him, it’s untameable. Or at least that’s what she’s told him over and over.  _ ‘The Potter hair is as untameable as your spirit, James.’ _

“I will, Mum. Promise,” James replies.

“That’s a good lad,” Lord Charlus Potter says as he ruffles James’s hair.

“Charlus!”

Charlus laughs and grins at Dorea. “It’s not like I could possibly make it worse, darling.”

James’s cheeks hurt from how wide he’s grinning. And if he blinks rapidly to keep back tears, well, there’s no shame in that. He’s going to miss them. He’s going to miss them so, so much. James has never been away from his parents for so long before. He had refused to be Fostered, even though it’s traditional, because he walked past the lounge one afternoon when he was almost five and overheard his mother sobbing to his father that she didn’t want to part with him so soon.

Six years after that, James knows his mother still doesn’t want to part with him for school. He’s determined to make it as easy as possible for her. He’s going to write to her every single day. A little less sleep is something he’ll get used to easily enough.

The whistle on the Hogwarts Express blows.

Loud goodbyes and well wishes fill the air as students rush to board the train. 

James steps closer to his dad as Charlus crouches down to be at his height. His dad is the best dad in all of everything and everywhere. His dad doesn’t care what’s “dignified public behavior” or all that rot. He’s never been afraid to meet James at James’s level. Even in a very public setting.

Charlus sets a hand on James’s right shoulder, his grip firm and comforting, and says, “I don’t have to tell you to do me proud, James. I already know you will. Remember to be patient with yourself when you’re struggling. Remember that I’m only an owl away. Remember to listen to your magic. Can you do that for me, Son?”

James nods sharply. There’s a huge lump in his throat like he’s swallowed an entire melon, and words aren’t going to come out.

His dad chucks him under the chin and smiles at him with hazel eyes full of love and pride. “That’s my boy.”

The whistle blows again, steam billowing from the engine of the train.

His mother strokes his fringe away from his eyes one final time, so she can kiss his forehead, and then says, “Have fun, James. I love you. Now run along. Adventure awaits.”

James grabs one of the handles on an end of his trunk. It Levitates behind him, Feather-Light, as he hauls it toward the Hogwarts Express. He steps onto the train and then spins around. His parents haven’t moved from their spot. He waves his free arm frantically, beaming as they wave back just as enthusiastically, uncaring of what the prissy purebloods will think of them.

“I love you! I’ll write tonight!” he yells as the train starts chugging away from the station. “I’ll see you at Yule!”

He doesn’t stop waving until his parents are out of sight.

James swallows around the lump in his throat. Yule is almost four months away. That’s … that’s a long time. It’s over one hundred days. He … he just left and he already misses his parents horribly. He’s going to be so lonely at Hogwarts, isn’t he? He’s not going to have any family there at all. Most of the other pureblood students at least have a brother or sister or close cousin. He doesn’t have any of that. He’s not going to have familial magic to huddle inside with someone. He—

_ Beloved Child, that is not your fate. _

Magic bursts out of James like a cloud, if a cloud were bright and made of starlight. It’s so bright he has to squint his eyes. It’s warm and safe and he would recognize it anywhere. It’s his magic, after all.

Pounding footsteps sound down the corridor.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“Look out!”

James releases his trunk; it obediently hovers behind him as he spins to face the yelling. A dark cloud, as dark as the night sky that stars sleep inside, slams into him. Small, warm arms wrap around him.

The dark cloud dances with his bright cloud, magic twining and spinning together. It’s … Merlin, is this what James thinks it is? Is Mother Magic giving him a brother?  _ A twin? _

That’s impossible, right? This boy clearly has Dark Magic! James’s Magic is Light. Won’t their Magic hurt each other? Won’t—

_ The future is precarious. I will need Paladins. You are of the Light and the Dark. Twinned, you will stand for me in the balance. Protect and guard one another. Be each other’s stability. I gift you a brother closer than blood could ever create, that all might not be lost. James Charlus Potter and Sirius Orion Black, be Twinned. This is My will.  _

James shudders as his magic cycles through someone else, as foreign-yet-not magic fills him. It’s Dark. He  _ knows _ it’s Dark. But it doesn’t hurt at all. And if he casts with it, he’s absolutely certain—though he doesn’t know  _ why _ he’s sure—that it will be Neutral Magic.

A delighted, wicked grin appears on the face of the boy before him.  _ His twin. _ His Mother Magic-gifted twin. Shining gray eyes (the same shade their magic will be when he casts with the shared Dark Magic or his twin casts with James’s own Light Magic) are almost squinched closed because he’s smiling so widely.

“Black. Heir Sirius Black,” he says before laughing in such a way that it reminds James of Crups barking. “Your Twin.”

James lunges forward and hugs Sirius as hard as he can. He hasn’t even gotten to the school yet, and he’s managed to get his parents another son. They’re going to be so happy. His mother is going to cry, and then drown them in care packages.

“Heir James Potter,” he says to Sirius’s shoulder.

“When’s your birthday?” Sirius asks.

“March 27. Why?” James asks as he leans back far enough to see Sirius’s face.

“Yes!” Sirius punches a fist into the air and then pats James on the head. “Mine is November 3. I’m still the oldest!”

_ “Still?” _

Does … does that mean what he thinks it means? Because—

“We have a baby brother named Regulus. He’s too little for Hogwarts still. He’s a spoiled brat and we love him more than anyone in the world who isn’t us,” Sirius says, well, seriously.

Two brothers. James went from being an only child to having two magical brothers in a matter of minutes thanks to Mother Magic. It’s … it’s a lot to process.

“Tell me about him?” James asks.

Sirius grabs James’s trunk and marches confidently down the corridor, rambling non-stop about their baby brother. James’s grin grows wider and wider as their magic circles between them. He might be away from his parents for the first time, but … he’s not going to be alone in familial magic at Hogwarts.

He’s never going to be alone again. He’s Twinned.


	77. Shag, Bond, Kill AU: Harry Potter/Susan Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For MidnightHalo27. It's been a _really_ long time since I last wrote this pairing. Fingers crossed.

Master Harry Potter sips his Firewhisky and watches the rowdy group of wizards at the corner table. He’s sitting by himself in Bacchus, not in the mood to socialize. Both Heir Zacharias Smith and Heir Michael Corner invited him to join. He can’t stand the bastards on a good day. Today has  _ not _ been a good day.

He knows better than to drown his sorrows and frustrations in alcohol. His father and grandfather have taught him better than that. But he’s making an exception today.

Harry is tired to the core of his magic.

He’s worn to a ragged edge and one wrong word away from ceasing to exist. The High Fae blood in the Potter line isn’t dominant, but some characteristics bleed over. He’s dangerously close to Fading.

“Okay, okay, how about Parkinson, the Patil Twins, and Perks?” 

Harry doesn’t recognize the wizard speaking. He was maybe a Ravenclaw a few years older than them? Regardless, there’s no excuse for the revolting display the sloshed wizards are making. Shag, Bond, Kill isn’t a game any decent pureblood would play. Especially not using pureblood witches’ names.

If they're not careful, they’re going to end up on a dueling platform, assuming they don’t end up in a shallow grave in the Forbidden Forest or some other Magical Preserve.

He spins his tumbler on the table between his hands. It doesn’t matter how hard he stares at the liquid. It’s not like it’s tea leaves at the bottom of his cup; it doesn’t hold the future. “Besides, I was pants at Divination anyway,” he mutters.

Harry only took the class on a lark, to see if he could scrape an Outstanding by faking all his assignments. Merlin help Trelawney, but he did. His dad bought him a Firebolt for pulling off “the prank to surpass all pranks played at Hogwarts.”

He might have gotten an O on his O.W.L. and N.E.W.T.—he honestly still has no idea how he managed to pull that off—but when it comes to the real thing, he’s useless.

If he really had the Sight, or even skill in Tarot or Scrying or any of the other disciplines, maybe he would have known—

“We h-haven’t done redheads!” Michael Corner says, words slurring as he speaks. “I love r-redheads. They’re s-s-so feisty!” 

Harry’s magic rankles beneath his skin as he stares at the drunken idiots with narrow eyes. If Corner dares to speak _his_ _mother’s_ name as part of this _disgusting_ game, Harry is going to—

“Weasley, Bones, Prewett. Shag, Bond, Kill,” Corner says.

Agony lances through Harry’s chest. His magic stills, waiting as patiently as a Slytherin who’s calculated the exact millisecond to achieve perfect vengeance. If a single one of them dares to respond, Harry is going to absolutely  _ lose it. _

Corner’s back is to Harry, but every other wizard at the table—plastered the lot of them—stares right at Harry with sickly pale faces.

“Mike, that’s enough. We should go home,” Smith says, sounding so instantaneously sober that he must have cast a Wandless and Wordless Sobering Charm. 

“No, thisss isss the bes-st one,” Corner slurs, barely intelligible. 

“Corner, shut up!” the wizard Harry doesn’t recognize hisses.

“No! I-I wanna sh-shag Bones—”

Harry Apparates right beside Corner’s stool, yanks him around and punches him in the face. He can feel Corner’s nose break under his fist. The sound of it crunching is loud in the sudden silence of Bacchus. Harry’s magic is rippling across his skin, a rolling tide of pearlescence as it reacts to his emotions.

“Oo bwoke m—” Corner stares up at him from the floor, blood spilling across his cheeks and down his lips, and then freezes as one of his buddies hits him with a Sobering Charm. “I-I—”

The wood floor smokes where Harry’s magic touches it, little curls of gray floating into the air. It’s supposed to be resistant to magical damage, but, well, there is very little that can be done to protect against a Potter’s volatile magic without Potter family spells and wards.

Lord Selwyn, the owner, looks even dourer than ever as he walks over to them. He sneers down at Corner, before turning a cutting glare on the no-longer-drunk wizards. “You’ve permanently overstayed your welcome,  _ boys.” _

They flinch and wince at the belittling title. But there’s no arguing that they’ve earned it, not after this public display. They certainly haven’t proven themselves ‘gentlemen,’ in any sane pureblood’s book.

Without speaking a word, they help Corner to his feet and leave in a hurry.

It takes everything Harry has not to go after them and kill Corner for what he said. But he doesn’t have  _ time _ to be in a Ministry holding cell or Azkaban. He needs to— 

“Nothing yet, Master Potter?”

When Lord Selwyn turns to Harry, it’s with the kindest look he’s ever seen on the man’s face. Harry can’t stand it, can’t stand the implied pity. He Disapparates without consciously thinking of a destination, even though he risks Splinching himself.

“Of course,” Harry says, tears spilling from his eyes as he lands in a room at St. Mungo’s Hospital. 

He collapses to his knees beside a bed covered in bedding that’s as white as the room. Susan hates white. She loves bright, vibrant colors, even if they sometimes clash with her gorgeous, red hair. No matter how many bouquets Harry brings, flowers imported from all over the world, they don’t make the white go away. They merely disguise part of it.

“Of course a blind Apparition would bring me to you,” Harry sobs.

He takes her limp left hand in his and twirls her engagement ring around her ring finger. It should have been joined by her bonding ring seven weeks ago. They should be lord-husband and lady-wife  _ right now. _

But a stupid, jealous witch hit Susan with the Enchanted Sleep Curse two days before their bonding. It can only be broken by True Love’s Kiss. And the crazed, ranting witch said it would prove that Susan didn’t love him as much as  _ she _ loved him.

Harry’s lungs ache from how hard he’s crying. It’s a twisted miracle that he even still has tears to cry. He’s cried enough tears to fill an ocean. Two oceans. To flood the world.

_ This _ is every nightmare he never thought to dream come true.

Because—

When Harry first started courting Susan three years ago, when they were still at Hogwarts, she told him she wanted to have her first kiss at her Bonding Ceremony. And without a second’s delay, Harry promised her, “I won’t kiss you until the end of our Bonding Ceremony.”

A Potter Vow cannot be broken.

Harry presses Susan’s palm against his tear-wet cheek and vows, as he has every day for weeks, “I’ll find another way to break this curse.”

  
  



	78. Magic of Three AU: Harry Potter/Female Draco Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For wildechild42. For the record, you have great taste in prompt pairings. <3

Heiress Dasia Malfoy wants to scream profanities like a common Muggle.

She doesn’t, of course. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t an extremely tempting prospect. If Dasia were anyone  _ but _ the Malfoy Heiress, she might even give in to the urge. What will it take for them to leave her alone?

Yes, she’s seventeen now. Yes, her father said he wouldn’t even entertain courtship offers before her seventeenth birthday. But with the way that most of the wizards and witches are acting … it’s like Dasia is chum in a Syren pool and they all want a bite.

“Heiress Malfoy, might I—”

“Daphne!” Dasia says. Well, it’s not exactly  _ said. _ It might be the tiniest bit like a cry for help, if Malfoys did such things. Which they don’t. 

“Yes, Dasia?” Heiress Daphne Greengrass asks.

Dasia’s unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the amusement on her best friend’s face. Of course this would tickle Daphne’s fancy. She’s been engaged to Heir Longbottom for the past year; she’s not dealing with the absolute nightmare that Dasia is.

In the past, Dasia never would have thought she would once wish for people to stop sending her gifts. Or that she would wish to be anything  _ except _ for the center of attention. But now she knows differently. Because she’s being drowned in gifts from people who clearly don’t know anything about her, or what she likes. And she can’t even go for an afternoon flight on her Nimbus 2001 without everyone and all their siblings and not-so-distant relatives deciding to do so as well.

“Remind the commoners that I don’t speak to …  _ people _ who don’t have ‘Ancient’ or ‘Noble’ or something similar Attributed to their family line,” Dasia says in her snottiest voice.

If they won’t give her any space, she’s going to be …  _ difficult. _

“Is that a hint, Malfoy?” Heir Harry Potter asks.

He’s a speccy git with annoyingly pretty eyes and hair Dasia wants to brush. Every time she sees him, she wants to shove him into a chair until she’s tamed his wild mane. It’s extremely inconsiderate of him to walk around the castle looking like  _ that. _

“What are you blathering on about now, Potter?” Dasia asks. Is it time for their daily bickering already? 

“Ancient? Noble? Something similar?” Potter winks and waves his right hand carelessly, gesturing at his … everything. “Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black  _ and _ Heir of the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter.”

It’s infuriatingly attractive when he  _ leans _ and  _ grins _ and gets all formal on her.

“So?” Dasia pretends to examine her manicure. It’s pristine, as always. She raises an eyebrow as if she’s unimpressed and twirls once, smirking when his gaze drops to watch her uniform skirt flit around her knees. “Heiress of the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. The first main line Malfoy daughter in  _ five hundred years.” _

Potter’s face does that  _ thing. _ That irritating, unforgivable  _ thing _ it does where (if she blinks at the wrong time she’ll miss it) he looks like a Slytherin plotting something extremely profitable. How dare he do that where she can see him?

He’s ridiculously inconsiderate of her heartbeat. And he doesn’t seem to care at all if she can breathe.

Potter  _ smirks. _ How dare he! Where are his lop-sided smiles that make him look like a fool? Where are the beaming grins that remind her of an overexcited child? How is she supposed to look away from him when he’s  _ sauntering _ toward her wearing a  _ smirk? _

He stops obscenely close to her. Dasia’s heart skips a beat. If their hands were positioned properly, they could be in the middle of a waltz. A waltz so scandalous her father would hit Potter with Stinging Hexes until he took several steps backward.

Potter looks right into her eyes and asks, “Does that make you  _ witch enough _ to be the future Lady of  _ three _ Most Ancient families?” 

His magic brushes over hers and Dasia can’t stop her instinctive shiver in response. Is he—?

“Or is that  _ too much magic _ for you to handle?” Potter purrs as he lightly traces a fingertip down her cheek.

Too much magic for her to handle?  _ Too much magic for her to handle?  _ Dasia is a Malfoy! There is no such thing as ‘too much magic’ as far as Malfoys are concerned.

Potter’s goading her. Dasia  _ knows _ he’s goading her. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.

“I better get the Black family black opals out of this,” Dasia snaps.

His magic teases across her magic, flirting in an extremely forward manner. “You wi—”

She shuts him up by pulling him down into her Maiden’s Kiss. It works exceptionally well. On both of them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dark Fluff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22843654) by [a6301](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a6301/pseuds/a6301)
  * [Thirteenth Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580028) by [WineAndStrongCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WineAndStrongCoffee/pseuds/WineAndStrongCoffee)
  * [Deathblood Twins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580301) by [WineAndStrongCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WineAndStrongCoffee/pseuds/WineAndStrongCoffee)
  * [Heiress Prewett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934181) by [WineAndStrongCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WineAndStrongCoffee/pseuds/WineAndStrongCoffee)
  * [The Cost of Victory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117473) by [seri-kun (vanijane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanijane/pseuds/seri-kun)
  * [For all that Maybe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30655409) by [Polanthie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polanthie/pseuds/Polanthie)


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